


Ordinary

by thewickling (Diviana)



Series: Ordinary Days [1]
Category: S.C.I.谜案集 | S.C.I. Mystery (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chinese Food, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Food Porn, Living Together, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-03 11:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/thewickling
Summary: After Bai Yutong is insinuated into his home, from an inconspicuous thing, Zhan Yao discovered the depth of their relationship. When it had gained those depths, he could not say. All he knew was that he could pinpoint his epiphany to an ordinary glass.





	1. Nine Lives

**Author's Note:**

> The black cat pursued the white mouse into his bedroom. Bracing against the threshold, Zhan Yao stopped himself from crashing into the door frame. His head snapped up. Baring his teeth, he nearly hissed. Bai Yutong was sprawled across his duvet. Twirling Zhan Yao’s mouse hat in one hand, Yutong propped his head up with the other. Worse of all, Yutong had the audacity to monologue at him.

Zhan Yao stalked forward. He grabbed the smug mouse’s ankle and yanked. **_Thud._** Yutong hit the ground with a gratifying noise. His torso whipped back, slamming into the bedframe. Zhan Yao pounced on his full-sized bed and rolled over.

“Ugh!”

Zhan Yao bent in half. Forcing the air out of his lungs, Yutong landed on him. Zhan Yao twisted. Barely escaping a neck-lock, he scampered to his knees. His chest heaved. His thoughts tumbled in disjointed slurry.

Knee over head, the slurry became his world. Blue walls, his limbs, shadowed ceiling blurred together. Zhan Yao landed on his back. Curling in protectively on himself, his shoulder smarted.

Yutong showed no mercy. His hands bound Zhan Yao’s. His arms stretched far above his head; a sharp ache jolted down Zhan Yao’s ribs. Using his superior muscle mass, Yutong pinned Zhan Yao to the mattress.

“You’re a thousand years too early house cat,” Yutong said.

He smirked. Leering over Zhan Yao, he tightened his grasp almost painfully. Zhan Yao glared and bucked his hip. He twisted. His lower body moved opposite his upper. Ignoring the protest of his shoulders, he attempted to wrench any limb free. Yutong still clamped his wrists, but beds were not the stablest of surfaces.

When the pressure vanished from Zhan Yao’s right leg, he slammed it into Yutong. The mouse lurched.

Zhan Yao lunged. His shoulder crashed into solid muscle. Hand on his shoulder, Yutong pushed. Zhan Yao similarly grasped Yutong’s shoulders. The two were locked in a wrestling battle; their arena, a full-size bed.

The odds were stacked against Zhan Yao: the academic exercised more than the average person, however, as a former military pilot, competitive sanda fighter, and police officer, Yutong beat Zhan Yao in sheer endurance. Winded, Zhan Yao went rag-doll.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “Sleep wherever you want.”

He flopped onto his side.

Rubbing salt in his wounds, Yutong prodded him. “Move. Right side’s mine.”

Zhan Yao heaved. His chest struggled to sync up with the expansion of his lungs. Aches and pains peppered his body. His breath came in spurts. Opening his eyes, he stared daggers at Yutong. The well-trained lab mouse did not even pant. Scowling, he clenched his teeth. He mustered enough scorn to compose himself. He moved, not rolled like he wanted, away from the bedroom door.

A full-sized bed was not made for two adult men. No matter how he arranged himself, he could not escape Yutong’s presence. Not only did he feel Yutong nearby, the mouse closed any space Zhan Yao created between them. His tactile nature translated to clinging to Zhan Yao in his sleep.

He shoved and rolled away. Yutong pursed. He pried off the grabby paws. Yutong smothered him with a wide hug. He kicked and pushed. Yutong captured Zhan Yao’s legs between his thighs. After five minutes of shuffling, Zhan Yao yielded. He settled for risk-management. He tucked Yutong’s roaming hand by his side. He faced away from Yutong and closed his eyes.

The morning sun shone through the trees. The light scattered over Zhan Yao’s dining table. It leaped from a spoon to his eyes. Adjusting his position to avoid the glare, Zhan Yao turned a page of his book. He crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. Today’s work day began late. The lack of morning classes meant he had a lazy morning to himself for once.

Almost. Sitting perpendicular to him, Bai Yutong took a sip of his soy milk. Placing the glass down, he likewise settled into his seat. Resting his forearms on the wooden table, he leaned his weight forward. He slouched, making himself at home. He pulled out a phone and scrolled.

Zhan Yao reached over, picking up the cup. Serendipitous, how their positions left the cup exactly within arm’s reach of each other. He took a sip and continued reading. He managed to turn the page before his peaceful morning shattered.

“Dr. Gongsun has been kidnapped.”

* * *

While Zhan Yao could not complain, Da-jie had long resolved the situation before they arrived on the scene. A peace once fractured could not be restored. They clocked in.

If he had any illusions of peace, they splintered under the weight of the case. Unknown suspects took advantage of the assistant examiner’s romantic fixation. Her obsession was twisted out of form and shaped into a weapon. While nothing excused her actions, Zhan Yao pitied her. She sought help only for that treatment to capitalize on the worst parts of her fixation. Whoever dared violate and abuse their patient’s trust deserved a year for each word in the oath they broke.

After a day of pursuing dead ends, Zhan Yao wanted to take a nice, long shower. He couldn't be bothered to chase away the mouse that followed him up the stairs.

Inside his apartment, he kicked off his shoes. He barely toed on his slippers. The black cat design squashed sadly. He trudged out of entry hall, turning right into his kitchen. He groped around in the dark. Opening his fridge, he grabbed a half-empty 20 ounce bottle of flavored soy milk. The thick beverage coated his tongue. A sour taste mingled with artificial banana. It had a distinctly tofu-like texture and taste under it all. He shoved the rest back in.

He beelined diagonally for his couch and collapsed backwards into the blue cushions. Flinging his arm outward, he abandoned his suitcase in the next seat. He shrugged off his jacket. Unbuttoning his waist coat, he carded his fringe. His other hand clawed open his tie as he closed his eyes.

The next thing he registered was the sound of Yutong puttering behind him. His steps were light and… Zhan Yao would not describe them as tentative but perhaps measured fit better like he chose to make noise. Zhan Yao settled on thoughtful movements that telegraphed that the mouse was exploring the area.

Light pierced his eyes. He blinked and groaned. Shielding his eyes from the lights Yutong turned on, he rubbed his face. He rested his arm on the couch’s back and looked over his shoulder.

Yutong nosed around his fridge. He stilled like a prairie mouse sighting a hawk’s shadow. Centimeter by centimeter, he lifted a bottle.

“Zhan Yao, did you drink this?” he asked. He spoke in manner of a mother lecturing her child.

He tilted his head. “It’s mine.”

“Zhan Yao,” he enunciated each morpheme. “Did you just drink this?”

Incredulity permeated his words. He turned slowly. His hand cupped his mouth. His expression captured the type of jaw-dropping disbelief that could only be found and rendered accurately in an award-winning, animated film.

“Yes,” Zhan Yao said, frowning. He shifted until his entire body pointed at Yutong. “Why—”

Yutong gestured with two fingers for Zhan Yao to approach.

“Don’t forget who owns this place, bum mouse,” he hissed. His curiosity won over his offense. He shuffled over.

Yutong opened the bottle. Shoving it under Zhan Yao’s nose, he ordered, “Smell it.”

A cloyingly artificial banana scent along with tofu wafted up. A slight sour undertone hit him a moment later. Zhan Yao inhaled again.

Yutong’s brow furrowed. As Zhan Yao stared blankly at him, his face went slack. The incredulity that colored his tone earlier bled swiftly into horror.

He lifted the bottle. Holding it up to the light, he angled it. Runny white liquid separated from a thick sludge. Zhan Yao blinked. The soy milk, if it still dared called itself that, was a thin layer of cloudy water over tofu.

Yutong’s mouth closed. He peered at Zhan Yao. Licking his lips, he swiveled toward the sink. He palmed his face and inhaled. He clasped his jaw like the action would physically hold back all of his concerns.

“Crazy cat, you don’t have nine lives,” Yutong said. Jutting the bottle into Zhan Yao’s face, he challenged, “How could you drink this?”

“It tasted fine,” he replied. Crossing his arms, he stepped back.

Forming the letters slowly, he said, “Doctor Zhan Yao.”

He paused. Pressing a knuckle into the dip of his nose, he demanded, “Wallet.”

His hand dropped in front of Zhan Yao. He curled his fingers pointedly.

“No.”

Yutong’s brow jumped to his hairline. “Do you really think you have nine lives?”

He spun around. Yanking open the vegetable drawer, a musky, moist odor escaped. He reached up. Exchanging the bottle for take out, he spun back. He displayed a beef and rice combo that, at first glance, appeared unassuming.

Whatever he read in Zhan Yao’s face, Yutong groaned. He pointed to the corner. A patch of fuzzy white stretched from some greens to the meat.

“Wallet. _Now.”_

Zhan Yao conceded.

Yutong tossed Zhan Yao’s wallet absent-mindedly. His cheeks shifted side to side as he chewed on his thoughts. A hard glare at the fridge later, the mouse from whisker to tail displayed his distaste. His ears flicked towards the fridge as the temperature control alarm beeped.

“Che, two months how extraordinary is Dr. Zhan,” he muttered more to himself. “Two months. Most of his food...”

Zhan Yao bared his teeth in response.

The mouse twitched. Bouncing on his heel, he slipped the wallet into his pocket. He patted Zhan Yao’s shoulder.

“You should study your stomach,” he said, chuckling. “How to cure food poisoning.”

Slapping the offending limb, Zhan Yao hissed, “Paws off, mangy mouse.”

“Throw out everything that I didn’t buy,” Yutong ordered as he left.

Twenty minutes of tossing his meager food stock, Zhan Yao pursed his lips. He held a small block of cheese. Approximately a third of it had a scattering of white and green fuzz. Pressing his thumb into a mold free area, he recalled that cutting off mold rendered some cheeses edible. Now did his cheese qualify as a hard cheese? The cheese gave way to the pressure. A thumb shaped divot formed.

“Throw it out,” Yutong declared.

Zhan Yao turned.

Shaking his head, Yutong scoffed. **_Clang._** He dropped three bags of groceries on the counter. Crossing his arms, he pointed at the cheese.

“If Kitty wants to eat trash,” Yutong said, loading his voice with sarcasm. “I won't take him to the vet.”

“I can drive —”

Yutong circled the counter. He knocked the cheese into the bin. Hands on Zhan Yao’s shoulders, he muscled Zhan Yao out of the kitchen. Zhan Yao leaned back, digging his feet into the tile.

Zhan Yao found himself in the air. Arm around Zhan Yao’s waist, Yutong half-carried him. He deposited Zhan Yao like a sack of potatoes. The bin landed at his feet.

“Toss that,” Yutong said, waving dismissively.

The fragrant homemade meal almost justified the embarrassing, condescending ordeal. Catfish simmered in a brown sauce. A colorful medley of mushrooms, onions, garlic, carrots, and greens appeased his eyes. The sweet scent of cammeralized and browned vegetables tempted his nose and stomach.

Biting into the fish, his stomach forgave Yutong even if his mind hadn’t. The delicate catfish texture mingled with the rich umami and salt from the sauce. He took another bite.

He hissed. A bundle of chili seeds broke directly over his taste buds. He glanced at the kitchen several meters away. He blew futilely. The short puffs of air did nothing for his burning tongue. He glimpsed Yutong’s glass of water.

Logically he knew water was a terrible idea; instinctively, he pawed it and chugged. The burn intensified. Zhan Yao groaned. Blinking away the tears, he coughed.

Yutong snorted.

Zhan Yao clenched his teeth and glared.

Flicking his hand backwards, he gestured: ‘forget it.’ The mouse’s trembling whiskers gave away his suppressed laughter.

Recalling the previous night, Zhan Yao powered through the pain. He ate quickly like a tomcat that worried it would not see its next meal for weeks. He hopped up.

“I’ll shower first,” he blurted, darting to drop his dishes in the sink.

The hot water soothed his soul. He paused. Eying a travel-sized bag of toiletries he certainly did not own. He didn’t even recognize the brands on the labels. The words looked perhaps like French. He clicked his tongue. _Was Yutong trying to move in or guard him?_

 _We were together all day. When did he even have time to his things,_ he wondered. Without a doubt, Yutong did not share his address with anyone but his family. Zhan Yao even had yet to see his apartment.

He changed into a cozy cat printed sleepwear. Since Gongsun Zhe’s kidnapping had interrupted his schedule, he made himself a cup of coffee while Bai Yutong bathed. Gathering his belongings in a heap, he settled into his couch. To catch up on his reading, he opened an academic article. He flipped immediately to the results and then to the methodology.

Yutong walked down the hall. Rubbing a towel into his damp hair, he plopped down next to Zhan Yao. He wore a plain white shirt and light gray sweats that Zhan Yao was certain he had not brought in with him, but Zhan Yao most definitely did not own. If the lack of animal print did not give it away, the size certainly would.

The cloth hugged Yutong’s arms and chest, accentuating his musculature. It was the kind of shirt meant to show off one’s form not like the loose and comfortable sleepwear Zhan Yao prefered. The joggers were looser but kissed his hips and legs in a way that hinted at solid muscle underneath.

Yutong leaned over half of Zhan Yao’s lap and grabbed his mug. Taking a sip, he grimaced. He shook his head, miming disappointment.

“All study and no sleep makes a very grumpy cat.”

The mouse wrinkled his nose and placed Zhan Yao’s cup on a coaster just out of reach. Zhan Yao glared. Yutong continued on: organizing Zhan Yao’s papers into a stack, squaring his books to align with the table’s edge, and arranging up his pens and highlighters by height and color.

Pointedly, Zhan Yao reached for the cup and repositioned it in front of him sans-coster. Yutong remedied that.

He scoffed, “Fine, more bed for me.”

He pushed off the cushions. Giving Zhan Yao a wayward look, he walked to Zhan Yao’s room.

“If you hog the bed, I will shove you off,” Zhan Yao shouted.

After the first night, he had given up on sleeping alone. The opportunity cost of fighting the mouse every night, considering his effectively zero chance of winning, against a decent night of rest weighed in favor of Yutong. At least if any idiot were to break in, Zhan Yao could push the guard mouse in front of him.

He had yet to decide if the benefits of Yutong holing up in his apartment negated his invasion of privacy. Zhan Yao tapped his pen on his lower lip.

His apartment’s atmosphere, in time since Yutong quartered it, noticeably improved. His stomach was happy. The little mouse was not only a good cook, but also enjoyed cooking all his meals if he had time for it. Waking up to a hot meal made mornings almost pleasant. He also liked to clean; his tidiness bordered on obsessive. Zhan Yao glanced at the neaten textbooks and papers on his coffee table. His gaze darted to the empty seat next to him. His previously abandoned suit jacket nowhere in sight.

Without a doubt, acts of service came second nature to Yutong. Zhan Yao added in “touch” to his list of Yutong’s secondary love languages. Yutong pawed Zhan Yao and his teammates...

Zhan Yao closed his eyes.

An indeterminate of time later, he felt lighter. He grumbled. A breeze prodded his newly exposed back. A horizontal pressure and heat supported him. Leverage and gravity rolled him into a nice source of heat.

Seconds later, the familiar cushion of his duvet enveloped him. The chill sent him hurling back to warmth. His half-awake mind drifted into slumber.

“Wake up you, lazy cat!”

Zhan Yao rolled over on his bed. The scent of caramelizing onions wafted in. Zhan Yao blinked. Sleep hung from his eyelids. With each blink, slumber tempted him back into its embrace. He closed his eyes and turned away from the bedroom door. A small part of him wondered when he had found his way to bed. Last he recalled, he started his third article of the night.

“If you don't wash your face in five minutes, I will eat everything,” the morning mouse threatened. His timber increased in pitch matching that of a child’s in spirit. “All of it and none will be left for you.”

“This is my house!”

“Che, says the man who can't even make rice,” Yutong grumbled. Zhan Yao could see Yutong’s judgmental eye roll through his tone. “You didn't even own a sharp knife! Or a wok or a large pot.”

Clattering leaked from the kitchen. A warm, pleasant hard-to-place smell infused Zhan Yao’s home. The crackle of cooking oil joined the mix.

Zhan Yao’s stomach groaned and then screamed him to hurry. He sat up. The world went hazy. Vertigo sucker-punched him. He rubbed his face.

“Four minutes.”

Mornings were the enemy and the perky-eyed morning mouse, Yutong, its general. Zhan Yao held his head between his hands and waited for the world to stop spinning.

“Three.”

Drawers opened and closed pointedly.

Zhan Yao trudged out of his room. He quickly used the facilities. Washing his hands and then his face, he blindly groped for his tooth brush. He opened one eye to confirm he choose his and not the mouse’s.

Finished with his morning routine, he entered the kitchen area. Fish congee greeted him and he immediately sat down. He inhaled one spoonful before he was filled with regret.

He reached for a glass. The soy milk soothed the burning. After half the glass, he found his soul had returned to his body. Cautious of the temperature, he began to eat more gingerly. Blowing for several seconds on each spoonful, he watched Bai Yutong and his empty bowl.

“You took too long to wake up,” said Yutong, answering a question Zhan Yao had yet to ask.

The differences in their upbringings were apparent. As the sixth in a long line of police officers, Bai Yutong lived and breathed early mornings. His military history reinforced that. Not even residing at Zhan Yao’s temporarily would interrupt his routine— not a single strand of fur of his was out of place— Yutong looked ready for the rest of his day.

In contrast, Zhan Yao’s nature leaned towards being a home-cat. His love of books and his nightowl tendencies left him with terrible habits for a world made for morning birds. He yawned. More often than not, he skipped breakfast and arrived to class just in time.

Yutong peered at Zhan Yao. He exhaled from his nose and rolled his eyes. “Hmph, still have a cat’s tongue? How old are you?”

“Not all of us enjoy pain, masochistic mouse.”

Zhan Yao continued his unhurried pace. The sun glared through the blinds. He checked his left hand, but saw bare wrist.

“What time is it?”

“6:15.”

Zhan Yao frowned. “When did you—”

“5AM, not all of us are spoiled housecats.”

“Who’s a freeloader?” Zhan Yao shot back, raising one eyebrow.

“Che, let me take that back.”

Yutong swiped for the congee. Zhan Yao pulled his soup closer. Essentially cradling it, the cat bared his fangs as Yutong made a grab for it. They stayed glaring at each other.

Several seconds after, Yutong relaxed. He petted Zhan Yao with an overtly magnanimous expression. His aura reinforced the ‘by acting like I am the adult in this’ angle of victory. Pulling his arms toward his body, he once more reclined on the table. His thumb flicked through articles reflexively.

“What’s your schedule today?”

“Two morning classes and a meeting.”

He gingerly placed his bowl down. Observing Yutong for a hard second, he tentatively began eating again. Yutong hummed to indicate he heard but made no more attempts at conversation.

Yutong groaned, stretching his arms above his head. Dropping them to his chest, he twisted from side to side. He stood up.

“Wash everything.”

Yutong pointed to the kitchen sink with a jerk of his head. He finished off the glass of milk before walking to the bathroom. The military mouse moved like clockwork.

Zhan Yao’s bathroom would be occupied for the next ten minutes. Zhan Yao sighed. Gathering the two bowls and one cup, he washed them.

Eying the sun, he checked the hall. He stepped into the living room. The bathroom door remained shut. Zhan Yao yawned.

A belly filled with fish and milk contented him. Unused to breakfast, the meal did the opposite of buoying him. He yawned again. He checked the hall once more. He plopped onto his couch.

“You a really are a cat.”

Zhan Yao’s world flickered. White flashed behind his closed eyes. Yutong’s voice approached. He shoved Zhan Yao.

“Catnaps make you late.”

Zhan Yao blinked. Yutong hoisted his watch at Zhan Yao: 7:20. He grasped Yutong’s wrist with both hands. Pulling the face closer, the seconds ticked by.

“Why didn't you wake me?!”

Zhan Yao dashed for for his room. His bus commute took forty minutes and his class started at 8:10. If he drove, he shaved the travel time to twenty-odd minutes. However, that unbalanced the rest of his day. At S.C.I., they always took Yutong’s car. Since he now slept over, Zhan Yao sacrificed hours from one half of his day for a smoother second half. He grabbed the first clean suit he saw.

Dressed, he hissed at Bai Yutong in his fitted white suit, different from the one he arrived in last night. Yutong adjusted his cuff links. Zhan Yao clenched his jaw. Silently debating asking for a ride, the nightmare of screaming students calling the designer clothed mouse his boyfriend deterred him. Except no one had to know. Grabbing Yutong by the tie, he marched towards the entryway.

“Drop me off.”

Arriving at class five minutes before it started, Zhan Yao exhaled a breath of relief. Scanning the room, he saw many female students. Their numbers had grown since he had started teaching the course and he suspected that many who attended his class were not enrolled in it at all.

He angled his head. An odd sense of absence tingled at the back of his mind. He gave the room another cursory glance before beginning his lecture.

Despite the uptick in attendance, it seemed quieter. Not silent. If anything, the excess of students added more chatter he had to stop. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Zhan Yao searched the crowd and his memories, playing a game of what doesn't match with his hippocampus and cortex.

Midway through, he understood: Li Feifan...

 _The boy always enthusiastically_ — Zhan Yao inhaled sharply. He corrected, _had always participated in class._

A melancholy mood washed over him. Zhan Yao blinked. His words caught in his throat. _How had I forgotten so easily?_

_How did it take me so long to notice? I saw him three days out of the week._

Zhan Yao swallowed. A cough reminded him to continue lecturing. He traversed the room to escape the negative curtain of emotions that touched him.

The subtle grief and guilt remained even as he finished his second class of the day. He packed his belongings into his briefcase. His actions weighed heavily on his mind. His phone rang, yanking him out of his thoughts.

“Hello,” he answered.

At the same time, Yutong’s mother said, “Hello, Xiao Yao.”

“Good afternoon, Ah Yi,” he smiled, folding his arms.

He perched on the table and kept an eye on the lecture room door. Students for the next class watched him through the window. No professor. His hand hovered over his briefcase, readying himself to leave at the sight of one.

“Where have you been? I haven't seen you since you came back to Hong Kong,” she chided in the tone only mothers’ had.

“Time flew by,” he said. Injecting sweetness and gentleness into his speech, he added, “I’ll visit you as soon as I can.”

“Tch.”

She paused. The hairs on the back of Zhan Yao’s neck stood up. Smoothing his fringe, he mentally prepared excuses.

“Sorry, Ah Yi I-”

She interrupted, “If you want to make it up to Ah Yi, my friend’s daughter is arriving in town this weekend. You two are the same age. I will send you the details tonight. Bye, Xiao Yao.”

Zhan Yao stared at his phone. The dial tone underscored his utter defeat to the Bai family matriarch. Experience informed him that a counterattack would only cause more strife. His brain conjured up the time Yutong bravely and stupidly defied his mother’s matchmaking attempts; Yutong never again ignored his mother’s calls.

If Da-jie was terrifying, Mama Bai was an indescribable force of nature. Zhan Yao had not been on the other end of either women’s fierceness in years and he had no plans to gain their ire. Sighing, he placed his phone in his pocket and tried his best to forget until it became relevant again.


	2. Curiosity Killed the Cat

The excitement and tension of applying his self-defense lessons on street thugs distracted him. The confounding case circled his neurons, banishing other thoughts. The questions followed him long after their workday finished.

_The suspect targeted vulnerable individuals and convinced them to commit murders. They have a good grasp of the human psyche. While his victims were prime material for lust-focused killers, the suspect themselves is mission-oriented. What is their motive for causing this chaos?_

“What do you want to eat?” Yutong asked.

Zhan Yao’s stomach woke at the mention of food. Glancing around, Yutong had driven a third of a way to Zhan Yao’s flat. There was plenty of restaurants they could stop by, but...

“Noodles. Spicy,” Zhan Yao decided, “made by you.”

“Che, you’re paying.”

He tapped on the steering wheel. Barely glancing at the mirrors, he changed lanes. Yutong preferred a grocery store several kilometers away from Zhan Yao’s apartment. Zhan Yao cared more about the food than Yutong’s assumption he would pay.

“Deal.”

“Wet or dry. Hot or cold.”

Yutong’s eyes darted around. Zhan Yao could see the mouse thinking and planning out the meal. His cheek went concave as he chewed on the potential recipes.

“Dry.” Zhan Yao tapped his thigh. _If I say cold, the damn mouse will mock me for my sensitivity._

He finally said, “Hot.”

“Ok. Egg noodles, pork,” Yutong spoke more to himself than Zhan Yao, tapping off his shopping list. “Vegetables. You’re out of onions.”

He looked at Zhan Yao. “Do you have chili oil?”

“Do I?” Zhan Yao shrugged.

He knew he owned soy sauce, salt, pepper, and chili paste. Anything else would have been gifts or Yutong’s. Zhan Yao normally purchased his meals.

“Chili oil,” Yutong said, nodding.

Zhan Yao checked when they arrived home. _Yeah, I don’t have it._

Tossing jacket and briefcase on the couch, he did not even bother to uphold the pretense of helping Yutong. The mouse would kick him out of the kitchen before letting him touch anything. He seemed more cautious of Zhan Yao in the kitchen than with a gun: _“At least, there’s a safety on a gun”._

He grabbed his electric kettle. The water heated up in five minutes and he poured it into his teapot. Steeping some he’d been gifted by a colleague, the fragrant jasmine paired nicely with the scents of Chinese ingredients. His stomach grumbled in anticipation of Yutong’s cooking.

Twenty minutes later, he had a plate of delectable noodles in front of him. Thinly sliced pork laid atop an assortment of vegetables. The noodles shone a pleasing, light golden color. Caramelized onions, fried garlic, and lightly charred chilis combined to tempt his nose.

“How did a spoiled kid like you become such a good cook?” Zhan Yao mused aloud.

Yutong rolled his eyes. Taking a sip of tea, he shook his head. “I know how to cook. And I’m spoiled?”

“Must be nice to have such a caring sister.” Zhan Yao’s attention swept across Yutong’s tailored name brand suit, designer watch, and luxury shoes in willful deliberation.

 The mouse crinkled his nose in acknowledgment of Zhan Yao’s point. He deflected.

“I thought that Dr. Zhan,” he emphasized the title, “would know it isn’t good for your health to eat out all the time.”

“Tch-che. Your rich tastes combined with your competitive nature. The moment you decided to cook for yourself, you would excel. Your pride wouldn't allow otherwise.”

Zhan Yao answered himself and then dug into his food. The light heat hummed in the back of his throat. If he were a cat, he’d purr. Not that he would let Yutong know that. The mouse had a big enough ego as it was.

He should have known something was off when he remarkably finished before Yutong and avoided dish washing duty. He happily showered, waiting the extra five minutes because Yutong had used up the heat. The TV’s soft noise drew him from the steamy bathroom to his living room. Yutong held a mobile. His face was pinched.

“Nosy mouse!”

Zhan Yao dashed forward. Yanking his phone from Yutong’s paws, (or at least, he tried to) when the mouse scampered out of reach. Jumping over the couch, he landed with a thump. He held the phone above his head and away from Zhan Yao.

“My mom set you up on a date?” Yutong tilted his head.

His voice was off, although Zhan Yao couldn’t quite place the reason. It sounded tight for lack of a better term. His brow furrowed. His expression balanced somewhere between offended and confused.

Zhan Yao nodded. “Paws off.”

He held his hand out. Yutong easily returned it. The hackles on the back of Zhan Yao’s neck rose. He approached, padding across the carpet.

“Why? Are you interested?” he mocked.

“You accepted?”

Looking away, Zhan Yao exhaled loudly through his nose. “Who can reject your mother?”

Zhan Yao glanced back to Yutong with his head angled down. Yutong nodded. Rubbing the back of his neck, he seemed to want to argue. His jaw sat high and tight.

“Unless you can convince her to stop, keep your nose out of my business, meddlesome mouse.”

His eyes shot up to Zhan Yao’s face. Darting across his figure, Yutong measured something. The furrow on his face deepened. He rocked in place.

“I’m showering,” he finally declared.

Zhan Yao stared at the retreating white-clad back. _Is Mouse sick?_

Shaking off the oddness of a subdued Yutong, he sat on his clear couch. Reading the message, he sighed. It contained a location and a day. Simple and to the point, it left no room for refusal. Without a number, Zhan Yao couldn’t decline the date directly. He stared at his phone. Tapping her contact, he brushed a non-existent strand of hair out of his face. He ground his teeth and rocked on his feet.

 _Risk offending Ah Yi or attending a date with a stranger,_ Zhan Yao debated.

His phone weighed hundreds of kilo. Discomfort crept up his shoulders. The hairs on his neck rose at the perceived threat. He inhaled and exhaled. Anxiety jostled his heart. He fought the pattern of short, quick gasps that his body reflexively fell into.

Speaking to Ah Yi, someone he liked, about the date made him very uncomfortable. Being forced into attending it and making small talk…

Zhan Yao called. Pushing his fringe away from his eyes, he paced the room. All his nervous energy supercharged as the dial tone droned on.

“Xiao Yao! What a pleasant surprise,” she said. The clatter of ceramic played in the background.

He stilled. “Am I interrupting you?”

“No, I’m having tea.” Although he couldn’t see her, the changes in her tone made her waving away his concerns clear.

Praying to his ancestors for courage and strength, he asked, “Can I have Miss Chan Ya’s number?”

“She arrived yesterday,” she replied.

A fabric crinkled. Did she just sit up? Zhan Yao bit his cheek. His feet circled his couch like a restless wildcat. He surveyed in his living room for lack of a better idea.

Ah Yi continued, “She hasn’t had a chance to get a new phone.”

“Is there any other way to contact her?” he fired off. “WeChat? Messenger? Line?”

Zhan Yao only had two of the three but he was more than willing to download one temporarily to save Ah Yi face. He was not proud of how far he would go to avoid an uncomfortable meal. He knew only a handful of people whose company he actually enjoyed. Large crowds boxed in his inner house cat. One-on-one conversations were somehow worse than crowds. At least in crowds, deflecting and hiding weren’t difficult.

“You will have plenty of time to get to know her Saturday,” she chuckled. The girlish reverberation hinted at her past. He dared not hypothesize aloud, but if Ah Yi had been anything like his mom, she matchmade several couples back in her day.

“Don’t be overeager, Xiao Yao.”

Zhan Yao rubbed his face. _How can I make this as painless as possible?_

“It will have have to be a quick lunch,” he negotiated. “I have business on Saturday.”

“Oh? You have class on Saturday?”

Zhan Yao bit his cheek. While his University, like most colleges, had classes scheduled on Saturday, none of his were. He lectured Monday to Friday in the mornings. His renown afforded him three classes. The rest of his time was dedicated to his research in the Practical Application of Psychoanalysis in Criminal Investigation.

Easily he could have rearranged his scheduled research period to attend a longer lunch. Could have, but he did not want to. He just prayed Ah Yi never found this white lie of his out.

Inhaling, he gathered his bravery. He worked to keep the nerves out of his voice. He answered, “I have business on campus and then fieldwork.”

When being dishonest, never doubt the lie. Believe it. Zhan Yao gave himself the worst pep-talk in the history of pep-talks. He couldn’t help but rationalize it. While he did not have a set arrival time for the S.C.I. offices, he typically had a short lunch before arriving wherever Yutong was.

“How regrettable,” she sighed.

She clicked her tongue. Zhan Yao pondered if Yutong inherited that habit from her. The rustling suggested she reclined into her seat. He could just see her crossing her arms and eying him with disapproval.

She finished, “A casual dinner will have to do for a start.”

He shut his eyes. Swallowing a groan, he prayed that his blind date had better influence on her family members than he did over Ah Yi. Briefly, he considered tossing Yutong in front of her. He sighed.

“Ah Yi,” he pleaded. Retaining his pride had no place in protecting his romantic life. He mustered up as much gentleness, softness, and childishness as he could bear into her name. He stated, “I will meet her but please don’t do this anymore. I am still settling back into Hong Kong.”

 _That’s true,_ he comforted himself that he wasn’t lying to her. He simply left the sentence up for misattribution.

“Do you have someone?” she interrogated. Her tone transformed from considerate aunt to tiger mom. “It’s good for men to focus on their work, but you’re not getting any younger. I’m worried you’ll end up alone.”

Carefully selecting words, he recited and rewrote his script internally until he had something that would hold her off for at least a few months.

“No. My research has become more involved.” He groaned, “I have no free time. It would be unfair to anyone I date.”

“You and my son,” she sighed like the weight of the world sank into her chest. “Workaholics like your fathers.”

He suppressed a flinch at the comparison to his father. A sourness disturbed his taste buds. He swallowed his protest.

“Be careful,” she chided lightly. Her tone hardened. “Don’t work yourself to death only to find out there’s no one to light a joss stick for you.”

“I’m sorry, ” he said, doing his best to sound sheepish.

She lamented, “I will let her know.”

“Thank you.”

Dropping his phone, Zhan Yao celebrated his small victory. Changing the channel to a documentary, he closed his eyes. He allowed his mind to wonder with the narration.

The unforgiving sun stabbed his face. Zhan Yao woke up with a start: _What time is it?_ Panicked he reached for his phone, the black screen mocked him. His neck protested his sudden movement with his back and shoulders. His couch was not made for sleep. Stretching out, he scanned the kitchen behind him for Yutong. Empty. Walking to the bedroom, he saw the bed had been made. Angling his head, there were no shower sounds.

_Where is Yutong?_

Checking his nightstand alarm clock, he saw it was 7AM. He exhaled a breath of relief. He plugged his phone in. As long as he left in the next twenty minutes, he would fine.

Making a loop of his apartment, Zhan Yao saw no signs of Yutong. His stomach whined. Abandoning his search, he cooked instant noodles. He poured his glass of soy milk. The noodles tasted vaguely meaty and the texture lacked the appeal of homemade food. Taking a sip from his glass, he frowned. His apartment seemed unnaturally quiet. Looking down at the warm noodles, he sighed. His appetite lost. He dropped the bowl half finished in the sink.

He took another drink from the glass and another. He’d been ambitious. A full glass seemed excessive in hindsight. He never had a large appetite in the mornings. He put the half-filled glass in the fridge.

In his bedroom, he checked his phone.

 **Mouse:** Meeting. Bao Sir. Left early.

_Why didn’t he tell me this last night?_

He prepared for his day at a leisurely pace despite a later start than normal. Without Yutong, he had no one to fight over the shower with. The near-instant heat soothed his soreness. He massaged the muscles, allowing the heat to work its magic.

_I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more often._

His morning progressed uneventfully. He arrived at the S.C.I. office. Everyone had their heads down. Tilting his head, he saw Wang Shao’s desk held no snacks or sugary drinks.

“Dr. Zhan!” Ma Han ran up.

Stepping back, he nodded.

She pointed to Yutong’s closed door with a small jerk of her head. The blinds were shut tightly. She entered his personal space and in a stage-whisper, she said, “Bai Sir has been in a bad mood all morning.”

“Go talk to him, please, Doctor,” Wang Shao added.

In his periphery, everyone nodded their heads without looking away from their work. Even Jiang Lin’s neck pillow laid in disgrace halfway under her desk. She sat straight; her attention razor focused on her screen. He didn’t even see the tattle-tale signs of her playing computer games.

Zhan Yao blinked.

 _Did Ah Yi turn her attention to him?_ Zhan Yao coughed, hiding a fledgling smile. Whatever sympathy he might have had for Yutong deferred to his self-preservation.

“Doctor?”

Swallowing, he flattened his lips. “I can try.”

He knocked lightly.

Yutong stated, “Enter.”

Zhan Yao stepped in, closing the door behind him. Yutong was at his desk. A file’s contents scattered in front of him.

Zhan Yao blinked. A spark of concern darted up his spine. _Maybe his meeting went badly._

“Bai Sir, you’re scaring your team,” he said, straightforwardly.

Yutong glared at him. “Is Dr. Zhan so free? You have time for office gossip. ”

Crossing his arms, Zhan Yao plopped in the chair directly in front of Yutong. The angry mouse turned his attention back to the file in front of him.

Zhan Yao waited a minute.

Yutong continued staring at the images. His pen thumped against his desk. Anyone with eyes saw the aura of ‘leave-me-alone’ Yutong emitted. The usually friendly mouse burrowing into his office triggered concern. Everything suggested that Yutong was redirecting his frustration.

 _From what though?_ Zhan Yao sighed, “Did Bao Sir change the deadline?”

“What?” His gaze jerked up involuntarily, before becoming glued to a notes section. “No. He wanted, um—” He rubbed his neck.

 _Odd, he’s nervous? Why would that question throw him off?_ Zhan Yao put a metaphorical pin in it.

Yutong finished, “An update on the status of the case.”

 _His eyes aren’t moving,_ Zhan Yao noted, _he tends to move when he’s thinking so why is he so still?_

The peculiarness remained even as they arrived home. The white mouse’s ears remained flat against his skull. Yutong quickly and efficiently made pasta from ingredients Zhan Yao didn’t know he had.

Even upset, Yutong’s skills remained untarnished. The linguine glittered in the rich egg and oil sauce. Freshly grated cheese melted from the ambient heat, covering the entire dish in white that contrasted with ground black pepper. He was certain he owned neither a pepper grinder or a grater. Crispy pancetta interjected a much needed burst of color. The carbonara had just enough heat to tickle Zhan Yao’s palate but not overwhelm the delicate cheese.

Zhan Yao wolfed down three or four bites. The sound of his fork scraping the ceramic plate filled the apartment. Yutong kept his head down. His hand barely moved.

 _The case must be bothering him,_ Zhan Yao frowned.

“Listless Mouse, don’t worry if your nose can’t find any clues,” he teased, gently, “my psychoanalysis will point you in the right direction.”

“Hm? What?” he muttered, absently.

Straightening up, he surveyed Zhan Yao. The gleam in his irises odd. Intense in a way, but not judgemental or annoyed as typical of Bai Yutong. Zhan Yao had seen it somewhere, but such a gaze had not been aimed at him so he could not place it.

“Is something other than the case bothering you?”

“Someone is always several steps ahead of us, aren’t you frustrated?”

Yutong stabbed a pancetta piece. His attention returned to his plate with razor sharp focus.

Zhan Yao pushed his seat back, shifting to get a better view of Yutong’s body language. The slightly parted mouth, furrowed brow, and closed posture suggested a secret. His subdued responses highlighted how it weighed down on him.

“Is your mother pressuring you to date also?” Zhan Yao jerked his head to punctuate his question. _That’s the only thing I can imagine…_

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Yutong’s voice barely rose. His arm remained in the crook of his elbow and his eyes never met Zhan Yao’s. No, Yutong shrank. His shoulders pulled in closer. If before he took up half his typical space, now his emotional presence matched a ghost. His legs were closed. He did not collapse in on himself but he made himself small in the way people unconsciously did when they were hiding something.

Zhan Yao bit the inside of his cheek. From when they were young, he’d observed nearly everything about Bai Yutong. Every new hypothesis and study he had come across, he used Bai Yutong as his white lab mouse. A confident Yutong he could manage, a frustrated Yutong he could handle, and an angry Yutong he knew like the back of his hand, but this Yutong he had no comparison.

_Withdrawn, moody, quiet, I’ve never seen him like this._

“You better not be profiling me,” Yutong growled hollowly.

Zhan Yao reflexively retorted, “I don’t need to, lab mouse. I’ve diagnosed you with several things over the years.”

His mind whirled, running through their time together to find a source for Yutong’s odd melancholy. Diagnosing or profiling coworkers and family members was bad form, but using the knowledge one had when concerned about their welfare, that was just human nature.

_Bai Yutong seems depressed, but why._

He ran his fingers across his fringe. He sipped at his wine. Suppressing the urge to scan Yutong’s form for clues, he tapped the glass. His mind spun through a mental check list of possibilities.

_The case is not going well, but not horrible enough to depress him._

The lab mouse was bred more resilient than that. His pedigree gave him a thicker skin than most. While his loose adherence to speed limits indicated dangerous adrenaline-seeking behavior likely intended to recapture the rush and importance of being in the air force, his career curbed the more concerning impacts.Achieving such a high position at his age meant he had a high level of professionalism.

“I’m showering first,” Yutong said.

Zhan Yao blinked.

The plate still held most of a meal. The food clumped around the plate, revealing small empty patches. It had been pushed around to look like it had been eaten. Yutong walked into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

 _Lack of appetite. Low mood. Lack of eye contact._ More signs of a bout of depression. _He could just be ill._

Zhan Yao pursed his lower lip. Watching Yutong scamper to the bathroom, it almost seemed like the mouse was escaping from him. _A flu or cold wouldn’t change his personality so much._

 _Could it be Ah Yi?_ Zhan Yao shook his head. _Ah Yi and Da-jie excessively twist his arm, but he never takes it with his tail tucked between his legs._

_What else could it be?_

They had spent nearly every hour together since the attempt on Zhan Yao’s life. Perhaps, that was the problem. He did not have enough distance to analyze the situation—  whatever impacted Yutong had entered his life at an imperceivable rate. He had acclimatized to it while it infected Yutong.

_I can push him or leave him to solve is his own issues._

Zhan Yao tapped his fork against his plate. _Clink. Clink. Clink._ It echoed. Standing up, he gathered his plate and glass.

_I’ll worry if it continues for a few days. Even boisterous mice like him can have bad days._

Zhan Yao walked to the sink, washing the two sets of cutlery, plates, and wine glasses.

He showered quickly. Entering his bedroom to see that for once, the mouse had not occupied the right side. Instead he noted the bed had three pillows instead the normal four.

Cautiously he walked into the living room to see Yutong sleeping on the couch. He crossed his arms and stared for a long minute. With his sharp senses, Zhan Yao doubted Yutong did not know he was there.

The corner of his eye twitched but he continued to fake sleep.

Zhan Yao sighed. _If he wants to be alone…_

Padding into the hall, he dug his summer blanket and tiptoed back into the living room. He draped the blanket over Yutong and headed to bed. Although he would not admit it, his concern for Yutong left him in no mood to read. He slept uneasily that night. His room felt unusually cold.

“Wake up you, lazy cat!”

**Bam.**

“Bai Yutong?!”

Zhan Yao startled awake. His side ached where Yutong kicked him out of bed. Rubbing his bottom, Zhan Yao glared up at Yutong. Whatever had come over the mouse last night vanished.

He loomed over Zhan Yao. Jutting out his chin defiantly, he pointed to the nightstand with his head. The alarm clock read 6:30AM. A tad later than usual but Yutong already appeared to have dressed for the day. He wore one of his fitted, white two-piece suits. His hair arranged out and away from his face.

“No breakfast?” Zhan Yao bit back an again. He wasn’t about to whine.

“It’s on the table.” Yutong rubbed the back his neck. “I have to head out early so I changed first.”

Whatever curses Zhan Yao had for the rude awakening Bai Yutong had given him vanished at the sight of his dining table. There were two bowls of fluffy rice. The delicate and buttery aroma of freshly grilled fish danced in the air. A pot of spinach and tofu soup sat in the middle of everything. Next to each bowl was a glass of soy milk that still had steam rising from it.

Zhan Yao found his chopsticks and forgot himself. His mouth burned from sipping the soup without giving it a chance to cool. Next, he took a gulp of soy milk. Its freshness coated his mouth. The thickness suggested homemade or at least freshly bought from a vendor.

They ate breakfast in silence. A part of Zhan Yao wondered if the mouse had slept. The meal was excessively extravagant, especially when he knew none of the components were leftovers from a previous meal.

_Maybe he’s in a good mood? Whatever issue he had, he resolved it?_

Zhan Yao peered at Yutong from the corner of his eye. His shoulders hung stiff. His chopsticks moved like molasses. His mouth barely moved.

 _Faking it until you make it maybe._ That method certainly worked to an extent.

Yutong cleared his dishes and left without a word.

Surveying the table, Zhan Yao wrapped up the excess and put it in his fridge. Washing the dishes, he paused. He angled his head. Something akin to deja vu addled him like a spot the difference puzzle with only his memory for reference. He observed the scene. There were two bowls, two chopsticks, two spoons, and two cups. The appropriate amount of cutlery for two people. Zhan Yao shook off the feeling and continued with his day.

What an extraordinary day it turned out to be. Nearly capturing an infamous serial killer, escaping an explosion, and bypassing a water burial, eventful was an understatement. The mandatory hospital visit afterward zapped his remaining energy. If Yutong had his way, he’d be in a hospital cot instead of his comfy mattress.

Even Yutong’s firm body felt extraordinarily soft. Zhan Yao glanced at the dog-tired mouse curled up next to him. Yutong invaded Zhan Yao’s side of the bed. His arm flung over Zhan Yao’s side. His leg over Zhan Yao’s knees. The pressure comforted him. Although his bruised ribs protested, the presence reminded him he was alive.

He blinked. Exhaustion threatened him from the horizon. Vestigial adrenaline kept his mind awake when every other part of him tapped out. His synapses discharged.

He logically knew near-death events caused temporary fixations. Experiencing it first hand was a different matter altogether. The day replayed for the nth time since he had arrived at the hospital.

_“I threw it into the sea,” Yutong announced, pointing off into the distance._

Zhan Yao bit his cheek. _Why did I write him a letter?_

When Yutong told the team to write letters to their families, Zhan Yao had thought of his mother. Almost immediately after, Bai Yutong appeared. He hadn’t even considered the rest of the Bai Family. He groaned.

A part of Zhan Yao wanted to ransack Yutong’s possessions. He needed to ensure Yutong never read it. He hadn’t written anything embarrassing, He chewed on his cheek. But it felt…

He couldn’t put his finger on it. Strange, it felt off to have a letter remain floating in the world that implied his dying confession. In a few days, his carefully constructed letter would no longer accurately reflect him. If he were being honest, and he was since his thoughts were not at the privy of others, the embarrassment potential irked him. The section where he described his concern for Yutong’s peculiar behavior now seemed wholly unnecessary.

The impulse to scavenge through Yutong’s items redoubled, a prod to the side. Zhan Yao’s depleted cells nullified the motion and Yutong’s weight discouraged it. His arm slung protectively over Zhan Yao, tightening when Zhan Yao shifted. The detail caused his brain to switch tracks.

_“Wake up!” Yutong shouted. Desperation tinged his sea-battered voice. “We promised to return together.”_

_“Please don’t die.”_

_The distress converted to pleading that evolved into anger. The stages of grief expressed in the span of seconds._

Zhan Yao only clearly recalled the beginning and the childish threats at the close.

_“If you don’t wake up, I will eat all the seafood,” Yutong screamed, but it sound more like a juvenile fit. “Eat it over and over. Nothing left for you.”_

Yutong’s desperation rang in Zhan Yao’s mind. His ribs squeezed at the memory of his emotional compressions. He coughed, his throat still raw from sea salt. He hissed as the motion jostled his ribs.

Yutong shifted. His head was on Zhan Yao’s chest, like he was listening to Zhan Yao’s heartbeat. The intimacy should have bothered Zhan Yao but considering his near-death experience he would take the comfort. The steady thrum of Yutong’s heart gradually synced with his.

His mind buzzed Sleep refused to come to him. Like Yutong, he should have been exhausted; his body held no energy, but the Sandman evaded him. A restlessness hummed in his marrow. Yutong’s desperate and childish pleads looped.

An epiphany just out of reach, Zhan Yao bit his tongue. The frustration built on itself. His intuition said the revelation related to Yutong and it mattered. _What is it?_

_Yutong, his desperation, and…_

Zhan Yao shook his head. His instincts and mind refused to communicate. He closed his eyes for repose. Darkness overcame him and whatever had kept sleep at bay faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See everyone next Wednesday.


	3. Lazy Cat

Zhan Yao opened his eyes. Late night or early morning greeted him with bleary light. Rubbing his face, he felt Yutong’s weight pressing him into the mattress. Craning his head, he saw 4AM in red.

He yawned.

His shoulders and chest ached now that some of the exhaustion that numbed his nerves faded. Yutong’s mass should have increased the soreness but the sensation did not bother Zhan Yao. If Yutong had been awake, Zhan Yao would have teased him for being a clingy mouse, but since he wasn’t, Zhan Yao could enjoy the comfort of another person without putting up a pretense.

Yutong might have been used to near-death experiences but Zhan Yao had not been fortified for experiences of these kind. Avoiding a car crash and escaping an explosion only to almost drown were very different things. The thought of them brought phantom adrenaline through his veins.

Yutong’s arm tightened around his waist as if sensing Zhan Yao’s distress. He logically knew that the action was likely an involuntary reflex to Zhan Yao’s movements, but it still soothed his concerns. Zhan Yao wrapped his arms around Yutong’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Neither of them woke until late that day. Arriving at the S.C.I. offices closer to midday than morning, Bao Sir briefed them and assigned them leave. They settled into Yutong’s office. The workaholic mouse buzzed with too energy to immediately return home. Zhan Yao did not wish to hire a taxi so he waited with Yutong.

Suddenly, his phone rang, breaking the silence. Glancing at his phone, his heart shot straight into his throat. Ah Yi.

“Shit.” Zhan Yao jumped up with a shout.

Yutong tossed a stress ball between his hands. He raised an eyebrow. His legs might not have been resting on his desk but he gave off the aura of someone doing such.

“The blind date,” he said, gasping at the screen. “Ah Yi is going to kill me.”

Leaning forward, his shoulders pulled in. Yutong shrugged. “If you’re already late, you might as well not go.”

Zhan Yao double checked his watch and estimated. He’d be roughly fifteen minutes late. That was still within the realms of barely-acceptable social etiquette. Breathing in, Zhan Yao picked up his mobile.

“Hello, Ah Yi.”

He prayed she would not sense his anxiety through that greeting.

“Xiao Yao, have you arrived yet?”

“I am so sorry Ah Yi.” He bowed even though she couldn’t see him. “I am running late. I can make it there in 15 minutes, but if she can’t wait I can understand.”

Yutong clicked his tongue. He mouthed, “Scaredy-cat.”

Zhan Yao flared his nose. The smug mouse would quake if Ah Yi spoke directly to him.

“Wait,” she ordered.

Her voice was even. It might as well have been a drill sergeant’s bellowed command based on his reaction. Holding on to the cellphone for dear life, he mimed to Yutong to lend his car keys.

Yutong chucked the stress ball.

Zhan Yao ducked. Holding out his hand, Zhan Yao gestured fiercely.

Yutong ignored him. Opening a file Zhan Yao absolutely knew had nothing to do with work, he mimed preoccupation. A new case had yet to be handed down to them.

 _Car maniac,_ Zhan Yao mentally cursed. He couldn't risk Ah Yi hearing him or he would have growled. _Can't part from his car for even an hour._

They returned together anyway and it wasn't as if Yutong couldn't use a standard police vehicle if duty called. The sort of cases S.C.I. handled came irregularly so the likelihood of that fell into just above zero percent.

More importantly, they were officially not working. Ah Yi might murder him and Yutong can’t bear to be parted from his ridiculously expensive sports car. He mouthed insults.

“Just tell her you nearly died,” Yutong suggested.

His tone was less than helpful, almost irritated.

 _What is his problem?_ Zhan Yao brushed fringe into place.

Apprehension for his own life overshadowed his potential concern for Yutong’s renewed moodiness. A good day didn't necessarily fix whatever issue he had. A distraction only ever lasted so long; his professional experience told Zhan Yao that.

“Don’t,” Zhan Yao hissed. _Ah Yi couldn't know._

If she did, forget scattering his ashes. Nothing would remain of him. If he informed Ah Yi about his near-miss before his own mom, she would not allow him to rest with his ancestors in peace.

The kinder alternative comforted Zhan Yao very little: the thought of his mom fussing over him gave him the urge to escape across an ocean. Having a pesky mouse care for him was more than enough.

“All right, I spoke with her. You’re lucky Ya-er is a sweet girl. She doesn't mind waiting a little longer.” She sighed in the style of a soap opera mother. “Go. Don't keep her waiting any longer. She’s wearing a green blouse.”

Zhan Yao immediately dialed a taxi service. Glaring at Yutong, he said, “I’ll finish my—”

With a dismissive hand flick, Yutong interrupted, “Go on your date. You’re already on leave. The report’s due after that.”

His words clipped off. He gazed at his desk rather than Zhan Yao. If Yutong wanted to be moody, Zhan Yao had no obligation to help him. Juggling Ah Yi’s moods employed all of his skill. Zhan Yao lacked energy to also balance figuring out the source of Yutong’s irritability.

“Bite me.”

Yutong blinked slowly, raising his eyebrows at an equally slow pace for effect.

Rushing out of the office, Zhan Yao questioned his ears. A sarcastic yes would have not been out of place for their banter, but the muttered tacked on ‘gladly’ would have. He shook his head; he must have caught the wrong words. Rather than wasting time figuring out what Yutong actually said, he thanked the heavens that for once Hong Kong’s traffic flow seemed to agree with him.

He stepped out of the taxi into the shopping center. Flattening the wrinkles out of his suit and checking his appearance in a window, he groomed himself as best he could considering the short notice.

Entering the brightly lit and contemporary Italian cafe, he spotted his blind date at a table in front of a window. She stood at the sight of him. She wore her black hair in a neat side-ponytail. Her green blouse was paired with a long, dark skirt. A neat and conscientious appearance, either she was trying to make a good impression or she was the more homely type. They went toe to toe in an awkward dance of greeting each other before re-seating themselves without too much fanfare.

“I apologize. I lost track of time,” Zhan Yao confessed. Studies showed honesty soothed over these sort of situations.

She smiled. “I heard you’re a professor. Did you have a class today?”

“No.” He picked up the menu to have something to do with his hands. “Did you order yet?”

As if cued by his words, a server appeared with a bottle of sparkling water. He placed it gingerly on the table.

“Would you like to order now, Miss?”

Chan Ya shook her head. “I’ll wait until my companion orders too.”

The server nodded and left.

“I was at my other job,” Zhan Yao appended when he realized he had killed the earlier conversation.

“Other job?”

He nodded. “A recently established police taskforce.”

“Cool!” she blurted out. She blushed, covering her face immediately. “Sorry.”

“Ha. Don’t worry about it.” Zhan Yao relaxed. “You’re interested in the police?”

“I’m a,” her voice fell to a whisper. “A crime novelist.”

She fiddled with a napkin. Alternating between peering at him and staring at her hands, her body language screamed nervous. Someone in the past criticized her career choice.

He frowned.

“Um…” she babbled, filling the silence being to develop. “I heard you were a psychologist so I thought since my parents were pushing me anyway if the date failed I could get some reference for my novels.”

Her head bobbed straight up. “Not that I expected this to fail. Or that you’d want to talk about work on a date.”

Zhan Yao gestured for her to stop. “Breathe. Did your relatives pressure you to come?”

That was common ground at least. Safer than discussing criminology or psychoanalysis when he had no idea how far her base knowledge extended.

“Yes.” Biting her cheek, it went concave. “They say that since I am getting older, I should search for a good husband before it’s too late.”

“You don’t agree.”

She stared at her hands again. Zhan Yao waited. Skimming the menu, he minimized any pressure he gave off.

“They,” she paused, chewing on her words, “said I must find a good husband,” she coughed, “they never ask if I want to be a good wife. Right now, all I want is to be a good novelist.”

Words spilled from her lips, pitched high and breathless. “Not that I want to waste your time if you are interest—”

“No, no,” Zhan Yao answered a little too quickly. “I couldn’t turn down a family friend. This works out for the both of us. We can have a pleasant meal and appease both our families.”

After they ordered, Zhan Yao watched the sky outside. One crisis settled freed his mind to wander back to Bai Yutong. What exactly triggered his bad mood? The case closed. For a short while, he even seemed normal. Then...

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your work?” she asked, manifesting a notebook and pen from a pocket hidden within the folds of her skirt.

_I arrived fairly late, a few questions couldn’t hurt._

“Sure.”

“Have you read crime mystery novels before?”

Zhan Yao nodded. “When I was younger.”

“Since you work with the police, what is the biggesting ‘culture shock’ you had at a real crime scene? What do novels always fail at capturing?”

“The red tape. If you tried to walk into an active crime scene in plain clothes, every forensic tech and crime scene analyst would try to fry you with their eyes…”

The meal continued peacefully. Chan Ya restrained herself to five questions. Zhan Yao had spare brain power to compare the carbonara he ordered to Yutong’s. The cafe added garlic which added a nice enough scent, but completely overwhelmed the cheese topping. Maybe he could get Yutong to make his version again soon.

A pleasantly full stomach later, he arrived at the office. He barely entered the floor before he felt it. The space charged with tension. Wang Shao lowered his head as Bai Yutong glowered in his newly claimed seat on Zhao Fu’s desk. A file in hand, his brow was furrowed. Storm clouds hung above him.

He closed it. Marching off to his office, the team breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure dropped. Everyone peered up at Zhan Yao with pleading eyes,  urging him to reason with Yutong. Their united force sent him across the floor.  He barely knocked before entering.

“Bai Sir is frightening his team again.”

“I said go straight home,” Yutong stated, tersely.

His gaze remained on his report. His pen flipped between his fingers. His excess energy and frustration shone through in the unconscious shaking. His foot also thumped. The rap of an expensive shoe heel filled the room.

“I returned to complete my report.” Zhan Yao sat in front Yutong. “Ok, what is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Refusing to make eye contact, closed off posture, easily agitated,” Zhan Yao crossed his legs and quirked a brow. “Those are not signs of somebody who's fine.”

“If your psychoanalysis is so accurate tell me what's on my mind, _**Dr. Zhan**.”_ The name left Yutong’s mouth like a curse.

Zhan Yao filed that away for later. He rolled his eyes. At this moment, Zhan Yao doubted he’d get anything useful out of Yutong. In this situation, he should back off. Their relationship meant he couldn’t take that implied insult standing down.

“I told you I am a psychologist. Not a psychic.”

“Right, or you'd know why— tsk.” Yutong shook his head. Looking at Zhan Yao for the first time since he entered the office, Yutong asked, “How’d your date go?”

 _A deflection,_ Zhan Yao recognized. _If he’s not sharing I don’t see why—_

“I don’t see how my love life is any of your business.” He shrugged. A question flared through his mind. “How did you escape Ah Yi’s claws?”

“I don’t see how my love life is any of your business.”

Yutong glared at Zhan Yao. He groaned, throwing his paws into the air. Slapping his desk he stood up, he pulled his car keys from his desk. Jogging to a coat rack and grabbed his jacket.

“Maybe Bao Sir was right, the reports can wait until after our leave,” he muttered.

Zhan Yao squinted. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” He put on his jacket. “If you want a ride, hurry up.”

His tone left no room for questions. Like a blade, it sliced through the air. If Zhan Yao were anyone else, he would’ve followed with his tail tucked between his legs.

“Aren’t you going to finish your report?”

“Can’t focus, I’ll have to rewrite it anyway.” He pointed to the door with his head. “Are you coming or?”

Zhan Yao sighed. The thought of another taxi made his wallet lecture him on responsible spending. He followed Yutong out.

 _I should’ve taken a taxi._ Zhan thought, squeezing his seatbelt.

The frustrated mouse decided that zipping between lanes was proper behavior for the S.C.I. head. Zhan Yao almost thanked the heavens when his phone rang. Something to take his mind off the action movie chase way Yutong drove. He picked up without checking caller ID.

“Hello, Xiao Yao.”

Zhan Yao swallowed a swear word. “Hi, Ah Yi. How are you?”

“My life has not been as interesting as yours,” she countered. “How did the lunch go?”

“Lunch?” he swallowed his next words.

From the corner of his eye, Zhan Yao saw Yutong press further down on the gas pedal. He felt his soul attempt to escape his body and internally screamed: _Da-jie! Da-jie please never give him another car._

“Yes, _lunch,”_ she repeated, patiently. “Did you have a good time?”

“Ah Yi, no more dates, you promised.” Zhan Yao knew he was whining but his pride was not so easily bruised. _She won’t stop if I don’t make her._

The car moved back into the normal range for Yutong.

“How did it go though?” she chased for his answer like a shark after the source of a blood drop.

“It went well,” Zhan Yao finally revealed. “She is nice.”

Those were unassuming enough words. Zhan Yao slammed into the seat. He glared at Yutong. Pointing at the red light, he feigned innocence.

“I’m glad you liked her.”

Zhan Yao frowned. _That was not what I said._

“Something went right, Ya-er asked for your number.”

“What?”

“She asked for your number. She must have been too shy to ask for in person. Don’t worry I passed it on for you.”

Zhan Yao clenched his phone. “Ah—”

“Well, it’s getting late. You must have work to return to, bye. I’ll leave you two to work out your relationship yourselves.”

The beeping of the dial tone stabbed his ears. He stared at his cell. Closing his eyes, interacting with the Bai matriarch head on aged his soul. Yutong’s odd driving inconsistencies paled in comparison. He rubbed his eyes.

Zhan Yao threw his jacket on his couch along with his briefcase. Yutong marched pass him into the bedroom. Stepping back, he tilted his head. Before Zhan Yao could question him, his phone buzzed.

“Hello, this is Doctor Zhan Yao.”

A female voice replied, “Hi, Dr. Zhan. This is Chan Ya. I’m sorry if my parents imposed on you.”

“Miss Chan.” Running his fingers through his hair, he lowered his voice. “I thought you weren’t inter—”

“I’m not!” she huffed, almost offended. “My parents pushed me for details. I said it went well. So they went ahead and got your number. Without any of my input!”

“I see. You should make it clear to them,” he advised. Silently he thanked the world he was not the one letting Ah Yi’s hopes down.

“Yes, I know. I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. Goodbye Miss.”

Hanging up the phone, he looked up to see Yutong. His shoulders raised. His jaw tight. He had several suits in one hand and balled up shirts under his armpit.

“You’re not moving in, mouse,” Zhan Yao clicked his tongue.

“I’m leaving.”

Zhan Yao blinked.

He exhaled. The tension in his body barely evaporated. “The case is over. I’m heading home.”

“What? Oh,” Zhan Yao frowned. That was logical. Yutong had originally stayed over on Bao Sir’s orders. Of course he would leave when the suspect was arrested.

_It’s disappointing I won’t get to taste his food anymore._

That had to be the reason for the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. He dropped his phone onto the couch. Walking over, he offered a hand.

“Let me help,” Zhan Yao said, ignoring the unpleasantness spreading over his tongue.

Yutong gave him four dry-cleaned suits and his car keys. Between the two of them, it only took one trip to move all of Yutong’s clothes to his car. The suits hung in the back seat. His sleepwear filled a small duffel bag. Zhan Yao should have questioned when all that had accumulated in his apartment, but looking it he was struck by how little there seemed to be.

“You can throw out my toothbrush,” Yutong shouted out from his car window. He drove off a second later.

He left before receiving an answer. Zhan Yao stared at the departing vehicle. Such a strange sight; often he joined Yutong in the car throughout the day and returned to his apartment in it. Yutong left earlier than Zhan Yao in the mornings so in the the last few weeks he had not been caught in its rearview mirror.

Zhan Yao trudged up to his apartment. He stood in his living room, staring at his jacket and briefcase still on the couch. The jacket was crumpled and collapsed on itself. The briefcase half-hung off the seat. _Why does that look so odd?_

With a sigh, he moved his briefcase to the ground. Propping it against the side of the seat, he double checked the clasps were shut correctly. The out-of-place sensation clung to him. He grabbed his jacket and hung it up in his bedroom. Walking back to the living room, things looked better but the sensation did not fade.

He plopped into the cushions and called for delivery.

The Chinese meal, not Italian as he hoped Bai Yutong would cook for him, tasted fine. More or less, it agreed with his stomach. The chicken had a proper amount of sauce, the rice avoided the normal pitfall of being too dry, and the vegetables were pickled. It was a perfectly satisfactory meal.

Zhan Yao dropped his chopsticks and closed the box. He wasn’t that hungry. Stretching, he placed the leftovers in the fridge. He decided to sleep.

Sleep did not welcome him. Zhan Yao tossed and turned in his bed. Nothing about the nature of the mattress had changed. A chill touched his limbs; his blanket insufficiently warded off the cold despite the seasons remaining the same. Zhan Yao hugged a pillow; a habit he did not recall ever having before.

_Before when?_

The stuffing lacked the sufficient firmness to be comforting. He hissed. The Sandman taunted him from around the corner. He rolled over, pulling his blanket tighter around him. Sleep flirted with him the rest of the night, sometimes kissing him, other times dangling him off a cliff.

Zhan Yao woke before his alarm clock. 5:45 AM blinked cheerfully. Glaring at the red numbers, he rubbed his face. The sleep refused to budge from his pores. He sat up and stretched. The muddiness of an unrestless night flitted behind his eyes. He yawned.

_You could lay down and get five more minutes. Yutong will wake you if—_

Zhan Yao jolted up. _No. He won’t._

The recollection scared the Sandman away. He had no leeway in the mornings anymore. Another thing to miss now that Bai Yutong had left. His sleep addled brain provided a connection that made Zhan Yao frown: This reminds me of break up scenes in movies.

A break up precluded that they be dating in the first place. If you were never together, you can’t have one. Yutong had just been an unwelcome roommate and bodyguard of sorts for professional reasons. _And they were childhood friends._

His brain unhelpfully provided that a Future Foundation study found that approximately 17% of sweethearts from the 1970s remained together.

 _A percentage decreasing with every generation,_ he countered.

Zhan Yao stretched like a relculant cat shooed from a nice patch of sunlight. They had been given three days of leave anyway so if Yutong had been here there was no reason for him to be up early. Zhan Yao, on the other hand, the University C hadn’t given him days off after all. If he reported the incident perhaps they would have but then his mother would hear about it.

Wriggling out of his warm covers, Zhan Yao began his day.

In the bathroom, he glanced at Yutong’s toothbrush on the counter.

_“You can throw it out.”_

Holding it in his hand, he hovered over the trash bin for a second. An odd relculance clamped his fingers. Yutong removing his belongings was one thing but Zhan Yao tossing things out felt different in a way he could not place.

Putting down Yutong’s toothbrush, Zhan Yao grabbed his toothbrush and began his morning routine. He washed his face, drying off the moisture with a hand towel he tossed onto the counter. He twisted, the tension clung to his body. As he exited, Yutong’s voice rang in his head.

_“Cap it. Dry off the counter. I’m not your maid damn it.”_

“You’re not even here and you’re nagging me,” Zhan Yao said without any bite.

Looking down, Zhan Yao shook his head. The water splattered counter and an uncapped toothpaste tube were as his phantom Yutong predicted. He followed the instructions and hung his towel on a rack.

The kitchen was empty. The hazy morning light shone through closed curtains. Zhan Yao’s stomach grumbled. Pulling out leftovers, he nuked a third of it in the fridge. Pouring a glass of soy milk, his mornings never seemed to start without it since Yutong had first stayed over.

He drank more of the soy milk than he ate any of the rice plate. The vegetables went soggy and limp from the heat. He sighed, resigning himself to half-heartedly shoveling the food into his mouth; he couldn’t be choosy now that he had essentially returned to being a bachelor.

His soy milk seemed endless. Staring at the half-full glass, he frowned. _Why do I keep overestimating how much I drink?_

He popped the rest of it in the fridge and tossed his plate in the sink.

Driving to the University C after roughly two weeks of a public commute had him arriving thirty minutes before his class started. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Grabbing a good parking spot, he stopped outside of the Psychology Building.

A small memorial for Li Feifan took up the front steps. Making use of his excess time, he used five minutes to report the death of his murderers.

Zhan Yao logically knew that Li Feifan could not hear him so Li Feifan would not be comforted by the case’s conclusion. Sometimes humans did things because they felt right even if there was no logical basis for them.

Classes passed quickly. At the end of them, he nearly automatically went to the S.C.I. department. He reached the front steps before he caught his mistake. Turning around, he climbed the stairs and entered his rarely used office.

Even his renown only just afforded him a barely properly sized room. His desk, bookshelf, and two guest chairs fit with a bit of a walking path and leg room. Nothing else dared squeeze in.

He settled into the plush seat. Pulling out his field notes, he groaned. The case unfolded so rapidly and unsurprisingly he was behind on his records. The nature of S.C.I. cases meant he couldn't record his field notes unless he wanted to risk breaking laws.

Squinting at the chicken scratch, he couldn't tell if the first word was “psychosis” or “psychology”. The following smudge was equally unhelpful. He bit his cheek. His handwriting sat centimeters above drunk doctor. He typed away making educated guesses.

**_Clank._ **

He looked up. A janitor stared at him wide-eyed. Bowing his head, he pushed the large trash bin through his office door.

“Sorry Professor, it is almost time for the building to close.”

“Is it?”

The computer clock said late evening. He stretched, rubbing his face.

“Sorry, I’ll pack up and let you get to work.”

Zhan Yao more or less swiped everything off his desk into his briefcase. He stumbled out of the Psychology Building. The weariness of a day bent over a desk echoed through his bones. As if triggered by the setting sun, his stomach threw a tantrum.

Shouting, hunger overwhelmed him. His stomach panged and squeezed irregularly. His throat itched, begging for water.

It had been a while since he recalled being so neglectful of his own body. Yutong usually shoved a water bottle in his face or passed over one of the numerous snacks he hid everywhere like a mouse preparing for winter before Zhan Yao ever got to this point.

He first ducked back into the building to guzzle water from a fountain. Then he got into his car and drove home. Half-way home, he remembered he had to pick up food or order some.

“I should learn how to cook,” he muttered.

_“Never, never enter a kitchen, except to wash dishes again,” Yutong declared from an amalgamation of memories._

This illusionary mouse listed off all the damage he’d inflicted on kitchens and appliances past. Piled on top were inedible ‘meals’ that may have more than once sent Zhan Yao to the pharmacy. It distinctly highlighted the correlation between his injuries and his proximity to cooking.

He was older now he could certainly—

_“Your insurance will increase,” Yutong said._

_His tone suggested his raised eyebrows and judgmental look. His arms crossed and his head was angled. He bore down on Zhan Yao with disapproval._

Zhan Yao clicked his tongue, unhappy to lose to Yutong even if it was one he’d conjured up himself.

He stopped by a grocery store near his house. Throwing snacks into his basket, he dumped three different eight packs of instant ramen to his bag. Shelf stable peanut butter protein bars joined. Experience told him that when laziness struck or the end of month paycheck squeeze happened he’d resort to college student eating patterns. He also added in instant rice, spam, and other canned goods because he wasn’t actually a poor college student anymore. Purchasing some hot side dishes, he trudged to his apartment.

He ate. The dishes either had no flavor or too much salt. The instant rice lacked the appeal of fresh jasmine rice in texture and taste. He used the listed amount of water so why did it more resemble congee than proper grains?

_Yutong is probably eating something appropriately seasoned with nice fluffy rice._

Zhan Yao longed for such a meal. Shoving the food in his mouth, he tried and failed to compare it to Yutong’s meals. No matter how warm or kindly made a hot meal was it could not replace a true homemade meal. A certain quality existed that could not be replicated.

“Yutong, are you shower—” He lifted his head to search for Yutong before he caught himself. The last dozen odd days acclimatized him to having a roommate. Studies showed it took three weeks to develop a habit; he simply had to re-adjust to being a bachelor.

He dumped his dishes in the sink and dropped the plastic to-go containers in the bin. His breakfast dishes’ persisting existence criticized his laziness. Rolling his eyes, that was one benefit of no Yutong: no one would nag him to wash his dishes.

He showered and went to bed. He tossed and turned. Having learned his lesson, he found a thin blanket to use under his duvet. The additional warmth mitigated some of the restlessness but his arms felt empty. His bed was too large.

Zhan Yao woke on time only because he slept so poorly. He rubbed his face. Stumbling through his morning routine, he pulled out a quick breakfast. Again his glass of soy milk was endless. He placed the half-full glass in the fridge. _How does this keep happening?_

The dishes went into the sink and he went to work. The time he’d normally spend at S.C.I. instead went to cataloguing and recording his field notes. Perhaps by some miracle, he would manage to catch up before his leave ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the food porn while it lasted. :3


	4. Cat in Gloves

No, an academic up to date on his field notes? Rubbish. He had tempted fate when he even considered that. Everyone knew academics scrambled to transcribe their notes when everything was over or in bits and pieces in the dead of night. At least, Zhan Yao comforted himself with that when the janitor roused him from an impromptu nap.

He arrived home shortly after, throwing his jacket atop the jacket from the previous night. He ate instant rice and microwaved goods. He had briefly considered calling for delivery, but his cell phone seemed too far away.

 _I miss Yutong,_ he thought. Fully processing it, he reasoned with himself, _I miss his cooking._

More dishes joined his unwashed pile in the sink. Zhao Yao felt Yutong’s judgment, but without an immediate motivator, he shrugged. The sink still had room for it. Sinks had two compartments for this reason.

Pushing aside the jackets of days past, Zhan Yao plopped onto his couch. He pulled out some papers, a black pen, a highlighter, and a tablet. Reading a few lines, he rubbed his eyes.

 _I’ll close them for just a second,_ he reasoned.

He woke up with a creak in his neck. A pen jabbed at his spine, trapped between his shoulder and chin. Zhao Yao sat up, rubbing his neck and face. He yawned. A jacket he’d at some point used as a blanket flopped to the ground.

He checked his phone. Dead.

 _Great._ Zhan Yao groaned. He glanced at the window. A light sky mocked him from behind the curtain. _Morning, amazing._

Zhan Yao trudged to his room and plugged in his phone. Checking the time, he saw he had time for food. More than enough time, his class wouldn’t start for another 3 and half hours. He yawned.

Another fitful night of sleep. Zhan Yao frowned. He prayed it wouldn’t be a trend.

Of course toothpaste would be smeared over his sinktop. Yutong raised his eyebrows from Zhan Yao’s memories: _“I told you so.”_ He pointed at the cap a couple of centimeters from a big goop of blue spearmint paste.

A hand towel and significant amount of water later, Zhan Yao miraculously achieved brushing his teeth and showering.

Entering his living room, he reflexively searched for a mop of brown hair. Zhan Yao closed his eyes and groaned. His stomach grumbled when it remembered no one would cook for it. He was an adult; he could handle himself.

Even with the mess in the bathroom, he still had two hours. He scanned his kitchen. Hot food did not manifest out of the woodwork. He opened the fridge. Taking out the half-empty glass from yesterday morning, he drank.

Not particularly motivated to cook, he finished off the glass quickly. Staring at it empty, it clicked. He always poured enough for two.

 _Enough for Yutong also,_ Zhan Yao blinked. _I always pour enough for the both of us._

Furrowing his brow, he wondered how a neat freak like Yutong could regularly share a cup with someone else. He picked up the habit even though the one who woke up first was Yutong.

 _I always took Yutong’s cup, so_ — The wrongness of that phrase stopped Zhan Yao’s thought. _When did we just start sharing a cup? Maybe he has an exception for close friends._

That didn’t fit. Zhan Yao tilted his head like a cat who had its fur stroked wrong. His synapses fired, chasing down his pathways in search of the correct answer.

His stomach whined. Hunger pangs scattered his thinking capacity. Zhan Yao carefully balanced his cup atop the mass of dirty dishes.

_I’ll just buy something today._

The only reason his jenga pile of dishes didn’t grow was because that one day turned into every day of the rest of his leave. The days blurred together. His prayers went unanswered.

Sleep deprivation shut off his bodily functions, providing him a full night’s of sleep, but calling it restful was an insult. Otherwise he slept fitfully. He acquired the habit of using his spare pillows as a bolster but it did not alleviate his woes. His bed was always too cold, too empty, or some other  quality he couldn’t place.

On the last day of his leave, his apartment was dirtier than it started off. His dish stack hovered at cusp of his counter. A bundle of jackets _(I need to get those dry cleaned)_ took up a corner of his couch and floor. His washing machine had a load in it that never dried (which he still hadn’t remembered).

He drank his customary glass of soy milk and like every other morning he added too much for one person. Only now every time he looked at it, he thought of Yutong. Not that he wasn’t reminded of Yutong most days; the apartment clutter and abysmal status of his fridge would infuriate Yutong.

His brain took great pleasure in conjuring Yutong to scold him for every bad habit: sleeping on the couch, eating delivery from three days ago he didn’t put in the fridge, not taking out the trash, and the list goes on. At this point, he expected a lecture on his inability to clean when he entered the office.

When he entered, he saw Yutong speaking to Zhao Fu while leaning on Wang Shao’s desk. A coffee mug in hand, he took a sip before placing it on the desk. They chatted for several seconds. Yutong patted Zhao Fu before he walked off.

Zhan Yao headed toward Zhao Fu.

Wang Shao meandered to his desk. He plopped down and drank from Yutong’s mug. His face scrunched up. Looking down at the mug, his emotions showed clearly on his face: betrayal.

“No! That’s the Boss’s coffee!” Zhao Fu said.

His hands half-raised to stop Wang Shao. They dropped immediately.He groaned. Face-palming, he threw his head back. His nose pointed to the ceiling.

Zhan Yao reached them in time to see Wang Shao’s expression transform into horror. His already wide face stretched to comical lengths as the statement sunk in.

Zhan Yao petted Wang Shao’s shoulder.

“He won’t be angry with you.”

“Boss hates sharing his drinks,” Wang Shao said. He stared at the mug as if willing it to vanish.

It did not and Yutong had returned.

“Where’s my—”

The mouse zoomed in on Wang Shao’s hands. His face squashed up. He exhaled, rolling shoulders down.

“I’m sorry, Boss!” Wang Shao shouted. He bowed his head apologetically, holding the mug above his head like an offering.

Yutong waved his hand. “It’s fine. Drink it or toss it. There’s more of that here anyway.”

For good measure, he tapped Wang Shao’s shoulder hardily. The thuds diffused the conflict. Wang Shao raised his head. A relieved smile blossomed on his round face. Yutong walked to the break area.

 _He’s not okay with sharing cups with his team,_ Zhan Yao processed. To Yutong his team was as good as family. _Am I the only exception?_

“What happened while I was gone?” he asked, while really focusing on Yutong fashioning a new cup.

“Nothing interesting happened. Don’t worry, Doctor,” Wang Shao answered, reclining into his chair.

Zhao Fu rubbed his beard. He looked in the direction of the morgue. He leaned in.

“Da-jie came by to visit Dr. Gongsun a few times.”

Yutong stirred in cream and sugar. He typically drank his coffee dark, but office brew, no matter what office you occupied, needed a good helping of sugar and milk to mask its awful taste. Curiosity killed the cat and Zhan Yao was nothing if not curious.

He remarked, “I didn’t know gossip needed to be reported.”

And then made a beeline for Yutong.

“Bai Sir,” he greeted.

“Dr. Zhan.” He leaned on the counter. His hand went to his pocket and the other moved his mug to his mouth.

Zhan Yao stopped.

“Any interesting news?”

Yutong placed his mug on the counter. “No, it looks like a slow day. Take advantage of it. Finish your incident report and have it in my inbox sooner.”

Zhan Yao took a sip of coffee, ignoring the burn. The sugar and cream barely hid the acidity of burned brew. He placed it back down.

“Have you finished yours?” Zhan Yao raised a brow.

Yutong shook his head. “I am about to start it now.”

He picked up his mug and left for his office.

 _I am the exception._ Zhan Yao confirmed.

Satifastication brought the cat back. Zhan Yao smiled to himself, even though he didn’t know why. Playing with that thread, he unraveled it. Yutong showed his affection through his actions and his willingness to share cups spoke millions.

The missing link filed in. Zhan Yao liked Yutong. Liked being the one Yutong was most intimate with.

 _When did this happen?_ Zhan Yao tilted his head.

He wandered to his office to work, but his mind tried to nail down the moment he liked Yutong. It failed, but conjured up all the reasons why he could have fallen in love instead. The expressions the mouse makes when they bicker, how Yutong chases after Zhan Yao when he’s upset, and how he gave into Zhan Yao’s whining popped up.

_What you going to do with this information, Dr. Zhan?_

He tapped his fingers on his desk. Did he want to pursue a relationship with Yutong?

They’d known each other their entire lives. The longest they had been apart was when Zhan Yao researched abroad and Yutong joined the air force. Zhan Yao couldn’t remember a time without Bai Yutong in the periphery. He knew what being friends with Yutong entailed. Did he want to risk it for something else?

Zhan Yao closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed. Opening them, he put his introspection on the back burner. He allowed the thoughts to stew before dissecting them.

He opened his report document and began the tedious task of inputting information. The pad of notes next him helped little. His messy scrawl put doctors to shame on a good day — after having nearly drowned, it surprised him that he could read even a third of the letters.

An hour and half of interpretation later, he managed to gleam a passable amount of detail. His memory completed the gaps. He extended his arms above his head and yawned. The first day back lacked excitement. Police work, despite what television may suggest, rarely involved shootouts and car chases. Even for a department like S.C.I. most days would be reports and evidence entry for the cases that they’d just completed.

Zhan Yao opened his email. His inbox had distinct trends: students asking about assignments, students asking for extensions, university administration announcements, university event announcements (spam), journals or sites requesting an article, contacts for his research, and police consults forwarded from his government email.

The top of the stack read: [Consult Request] Novel. Zhan Yao typically ignored these kinds of emails except it came from chanyaya.88@x.com.

Zhan Yao blinked.

The name sounded familiar. He opened to a professional request to fact check the details of a murder mystery novel. Since Miss Chan knew Ah Yi, Zhan Yao wrote an original message to reject the request.

Reading through an email consult from a different department, he continued working.

**_Knock knock._ **

“Come in,” he said, not looking up from his post injury report.

“Er-uhm, Dr. Zhan?” Jiang Lin asked. “We’re ordering lunch from the usual place. What do you want?”

He blinked, glancing up. “Y— Bai Sir is also ordering?”

Yutong prefered dining in restaurants whenever he could. Take-out reminded him too much of long nights and stake-outs supposedly. During the last weeks, Zhan Yao could not recall a single instance of Yutong eating delivery. Snacks he would dig out from his hibernation hoards but if time permitted they ate at the store.

She shook her head. “Bai Sir and Da-jie went out for lunch.”

“Oh?” Zhan Yao furrowed his brow. _Da-jie usually invites me…_

She glanced over her shoulder. Her fist hovered in front of her mouth in a cute, cautious gesture. Confirming neither person were present, she stepped inside. The door shut.

“Bai Sir dragged dai-jie away from your office,” she stage-whispered. Scampering to Zhan Yao’s desk, she leaned on it with one hand. Her eyes widened. “Are Dr. Zhan and Bai Sir arguing?”

Jiang Lin pouted, biting her lip. She placed her other hand on the desk, leaning forward. She said, “Bai Sir has been—”

“Number 3 with rice.”

She fluttered her eyelashes in confusion.

“My order,” he said, “That is what you came here for.”

“No fun,” she whined. Another stern look sent her out of his office.

She had a point. Yutong rarely ate with Da-jie alone or with any of his family for the matter. If one considered Yutong a force to be reckoned with, Ah Yi and Da-jie were hurricanes. He was nothing but a summer breeze in their wake. As long as Zhan Yao wasn't overseas, Yutong dragged him to meals to act as a bulwark.

Zhan Yao put Yutong and this strangeness out of his mind until he arrived home. Even if he wanted to think of anything else, the apartment mess instantly brought up Yutong’s judgmental face in his memory.

The force of the disapproval moved him to wash his disaster pile of dishes. Elbow deep in soapy water and patches of what he refused to acknowledge as mold, Zhan Yao allowed his mind to wonder.

 _Yutong is acting odd,_ Zhan Yao pondered. _I thought he would resolve it over the break._

While Yutong had not seem particularly agitated or closed off, Zhan Yao had only seen him for ten minutes throughout the entire shift. That did not sit right with him.

 _Becoming clingy as soon as you realize you like Yutong,_ he scolded himself, shaking his head.

 _Was Yutong even gay or bi?_ Zhan Yao wondered briefly.

As a psychologist, his studies exposed him to the various sexual orientations. He, as any good student did, pondered dating man. The hypothetical same-sex relationship did not bother him. In his ponderings, a potential male partner had been a vague entity and he never put this conjecture to the test.

He had no idea what Yutong’s thoughts were on same-sex relationships; while the only time they had been apart was when Zhan Yao studied in New York and Yutong joined the military, he never followed Yutong’s romantic life. Why would he?

Racking his memory, Zhan Yao recalled vague memories of a girlfriend or two. Ah Yi would have bragged to every available ear if Yutong had a long-term girlfriend. All he knew was that Yutong was single.

He sighed. Just because he was interested in Yutong didn’t make the opposite true. Even if his bed felt too empty, his cup too big, and apartment too spacious, he enjoyed the familiarity of their dynamic. If nothing changed in their cat and mouse relationship, Zhan Yao would be content.

* * *

Something changed. Zhao Yao noticed the very next day. Having proofread his report, he entered Yutong’s office.

“Bai Sir.” Zhan Yao tapped on the threshold with his report.

“Hmm?”

Yutong glanced up from a file. He pointed to his inbox with the tip of his pen. He refocused on his desk.

Zhan Yao tilted his head. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt wrong. He padded across the carpet and dropped the file in.

“Oh, right. Dr. Zhan, since things have been slow, you can work on your research,” Yutong mentioned off-hand. “Just don’t treat this office as your psychology lab.”

The line delivery cued Zhan Yao in. The flat, even tone without the barest attempt of a criticism had no heart.

He nodded and left.

Turning over their interaction around in his head, he frowned. There was nothing wrong with it. His hackles still rose uncomfortably.

Again, he did not see Yutong for the rest of the shift. At lunch time, Yutong roped Zhao Fu and Wang Shao into a meal. The rest of the team ordered from a stall down the street.

Zhan Yao pushed away his cartoon of char siu noodles to the corner of his desk. Like the previous day, his appetite was nonexistent. He gnawed on a protein bar. Emotions aside, he needed food to survive.

Instead, he analyzed the completely normal, professional interaction he had with Yutong. He handed in his report; Yutong gave him permission to work on a project during hours. Yutong’s focus remained on his documents.

Zhan Yao blinked. _Yutong willingly did paperwork._

The adrenaline junkie mouse chose to and has repeatedly chosen to do paperwork over anything else. Why hadn’t he noticed that oddity before? While certainly strange, that wasn’t what rackled him. He couldn’t pinpoint why their average conversation made him feel so off. The contemplations haunted him home.

He shrugged. At least his sink now had zero dishes in it. The same could not be said of his couch. It still held his week or so supply of suit jackets. Why didn’t he hang them up?

While hypothetically he could iron them himself, three phantom jackets from his past berated him. A fierce fire alarm echoed out from his memory. Housework in any form tended to end in disaster.

He sighed.

 _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself. _Tomorrow._

The next day he wore the least wrinkled jacket from the stack. Checking it for any stains, he smelled it. He eyed the rest of the pile and accepted that he was much too lazy to go to the dry cleaners at the moment. The benefit of wearing three-piece suits was that it was socially-acceptable to forgo the jacket. If he had to, he could wear waistcoats alone and avoid dry cleaning for another week or two.

No one at the university remarked on his suit jacket. Neither did anyone at SCI. He spoke to Wang Shao and Zhao Fu by their desks without either saying anything.

Then, Yutong walked past. He stopped and doubled back. His nose twitched.

“Dr. Zhan,” he started and then stopped.

He bounced on his heel. Shaking his head, he continued walking.

Zhan Yao frowned. _Perhaps Jiang Lin had a point, Yutong is ignoring me?_

Zhan Yao followed after. The white mouse picked up his pace. Having someone avoid you so blatantly for no reason… He quickened his pursuit of Yutong. This game of speeding up continued all the way to Yutong’s office.

“Did you need something Dr. Zhan?” Yutong asked.

He sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His tongue flicked out and in, relaying his irritation. His nose twitched in agreement.

“Why are you running away?” Zhan Yao accused.

Yutong’s face scrunched up in offense. “Who’s running away? Why were you chasing me?”

“You looked like you had something say. When did Bai Yutong have such a shy mouth?” Zhan Yao crossed his arms.

Yutong rolled his eyes. “I allow you to save face and —” he waved the rest of that sentence away — “Aren’t you ashamed to dress so shabbily? Are you a stray?”

“Are you going blind?” Zhan Yao retorted. _This isn’t what you wanted to talk about._

He fell back into routine with Yutong so easily. Sharp remarks and quick banter were second nature. They always bickered — that never bothered Zhan Yao before now.

Yutong hopped off his desk. He pulled at Zhan Yao’s jacket, revealing a large crease across the waist. His nose wrinkled. He leaned forward and his face contorted more.

“Did you spill an inkwell on it, huh?”

Pushing Yutong’s hand away, he pulled on the shoulder. He had to close his eyes to even notice the faint scent of synthetic ink. Opening them he observed a dark spot the size of a highlighter tip. Yutong had a terrifying nose, but it was not the time to admire him.

“Stop deflecting,” Zhan Yao straightened out. “Why are you avoiding me? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for over a week?”

“Huh?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “We had a break. Why would I want to see your face on my time off?”

Rolling his eyes, Yutong stepped back. “I see you every day at work. How am I avoiding you?”

Zhan Yao flared his eyes. His shoulders went taut. Irritation rolled through him and the tension sent him back on his heels. Before he could pounce, Yutong patted his shoulder.

“I get it. The spoiled cat wants someone to feed him.” Yutong angled his head condescendingly. “What do you want to eat?”

Zhan Yao weighed out the pros and cons. Yutong obviously was deflecting again, but food. A homemade meal, the thought made his mouth water. His stomach spoke, _You can question him at your house._

“Paws off,” Zhan Yao hissed without any bite behind it. “Fish.”

He had appearances to keep up after all. In the safety of his own office, he removed his jacket. If he’d known about the ink splotch he would have just worn a waistcoat. Another quiet day passed; night came quickly.

“Leave your car. You have to pay for the ingredients,” Yutong said, holding up his keys.

Zhan Yao nodded. He suppressed the bounce in his step. The drive and subsequent shopping passed in a blur. His growing excitement for hot food erased his normal complaints.

Reality drenched Zhan Yao. Entering the apartment, Yutong’s disapproving expression obliterated the pitiful figment that he’d imagined lecturing him.

“Zhao Yao, are you an adult?” Yutong questioned. His even tone somehow worse than the outraged shout Zhan Yao had expected. Yutong opened his windows. Eying Zhan Yao deliberately, he unlocked them and pulled them wide. The evening breeze rushed in. His papers fluttered from their precarious positions on his coffee table and couch.

Yutong proceed to his couch, pointing at the balled up pile. “This?”

He didn’t need to finish his accusation. Zhan Yao held up the wrinkled jacket in his hands defensively. Yutong ran his hand through his hair.

“Put them in a bag by the door for tomorrow,” Yutong sighed.

Zhan Yao felt his shoulders untense. Normally his fight reflex would kick in but… An unpleasantness surrounding his apartment vanished. He breathed easier. He doubted Yutong opening the windows accounted for all of it.

 _I missed this,_ Zhan Yao thought embarrassed. The shame encouraged him to listen without complaint. His apartment felt better with Yutong in it.

When he finished shoving all of his jackets into a plastic bag, he looked up to Yutong in front of his fridge. Both doors opened wide, Yutong moved the trash bin next to him. In the five seconds Zhan Yao observed, Yutong chucked six items in the bin.

Zhan Yao sheepishly filed in after Yutong.

“I’ve been gone a week, a week,” Yutong muttered. “How?”

He opened one of the many partly consumed takeout boxes. Holding it up at Zhan Yao, he hissed, “What is this?”

The carton contained rice, stir fry beef, and greens. Zhan Yao relayed such.

“Why is it full?” Yutong unclenched his jaw. He opened another box that similarly had a corner missing. After the third container the point was more than made. “Zhan Yao, what have you been eating?”

“I haven’t been hungry. I am not an idiot.” Zhan Yao rolled his eyes. “I have been eating.”

“When? What? Wang Shao said you gave him your lunch today and yesterday.”

Turning around, he raised his brows. His face clearly showcased his disbelief. The fridge alarm blared behind him, punctuating his interrogation. He pointed his finger and paused. Closing his hand, he placed it over his mouth.

Zhan Yao reached for his pocket, before catching himself. Yutong traced the motion. He jammed his hand into Zhan Yao’s pocket. His expression darkened, holding up the protein bar with three bites missing.

“Dr. Zhan, you have a doctorate,” Yutong said. He dragged out every word, interjecting them with his concern and disapproval. “You know better than to eat protein bars for every meal.”

Zhan Yao shrugged. “It’s one day.”

Or three, he mentally corrected, but Yutong didn’t need to know that.

Yutong pressed the back of his hand to Zhan Yao’s forehead. His brow furrowed. Comparing their temperatures, Yutong expression went from tense and uneasy to relaxed and disbelieving. He clicked his tongue.

“Here.”

Yutong grabbed the containers he’d opened. He shoved the trio into Zhan Yao’s arms.

“Throw out anything with chicken in it —” He angled his head. With a cursory sweep of Zhan Yao, he sighed, “Just throw out everything not from the last two days. I don’t trust you to remember to eat before it goes bad.”

“Hey!”

Yutong eyed Zhan Yao. “Midterms week our second year.”

“That was once!”

“Third year. Winter break,” he said, cocking his head pointedly.

“Nothing recent—”

“Soy milk earlier this month.”

He eyed Zhan Yao with an expression that said ‘do you really want me to continue?’. Holding up three fingers, he emphasized his willingness take this conversation beyond its logical conclusion. His eyebrows rose past his hairline. He snapped his arms to his waist. Zhan Yao very much felt like a student in the principal’s office.

Biting his lip, Yutong shook his head. He walked passed Zhan Yao. Picking up his keys, he gave the groceries a critical eye.

“Where are you going?” Zhan Yao turned, following Yutong with his gaze.

Yutong said, “Give me your wallet.”

Dumping the food into the trash, Zhan Yao tossed his wallet.

“Clean that out,” Yutong ordered, pointing to the leftovers. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

Yutong hadn’t returned in twenty minutes, giving Zhan Yao time to tidy the bathroom while he was at it. His apartment hadn’t seemed so bad. Neither had his eating habits. Sure he hadn’t eaten much in the last few days, but—

 _Since Yutong left,_ his brain corrected. It supplied studies on how heartbreak and loss caused negative changes in behavior. His psychologist side recounted the psychological and medical complications: the stages of grief, withdrawal symptoms, increased risk of depression, and so on.

Zhan Yao rolled his eyes. _I didn’t lose Yutong and we aren’t dating._

He knew though that those studies while they focused on romantic partners and immediate family were applicable to whatever nebulous relation they had.

 _Friends,_ he corrected himself, _you’re friends. You want to stay friends._

Having already begun tidying up his apartment, Zhan Yao moved to his bedroom. He was definitely not keeping his hands busy to distract his mind. He switched his sheets.

Dragging his old sheets and some stray sleepwear to the his washing machine, he realized a load from several days ago remained. The musk of improperly dried clothes curled his toes. He tossed an appropriate quantity of detergent in.

He walked to his living room. Flopping onto the seat, he winced. He pulled up a pen that stabbed his bottom. Sitting up, he dug around the couch for other odd items: pens, highlighters, and paper clips. He tossed them on the coffee table.

Glancing over his shoulder, Zhan Yao observed Yutong’s back. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air. Zhan Yao’s stomach grumbled.

Approximately two hours later, two sets of bowls, cups, and chopsticks greeted Zhan Yao. Steamed fish topped with ginger, spring onions, and cilantro invited him to eat. An abundance of broccoli tossed in garlic and oil accompanied it as well as a plate of stir-fried carrots, cauliflower, and string beans. Next to it, mushrooms with thinly sliced ginger, radish, and onion enticed Zhan Yao’s stomach. As if to make his commentary on Zhan Yao’s abyssal eating habits clear, Yutong also included tofu and spinach soup. All the vegetable dishes occupied the side of the table closer to Zhan Yao.

While the meal satisfied Zhan Yao’s senses, something felt slightly off. His stomach grumbled again. Zhan Yao dug in. His hibernating appetite woke. Before he knew it, he started his second bowl. Throughout their meal, Yutong not so subtly nudged the vegetables toward Zhan Yao.

Yutong finished and stood up. Zhan Yao expected him to turn toward the bathroom. Instead, he picked up his keys from the kitchen counter.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” he said, pausing. He gave Zhan Yao a stern look. “Wrap everything you don’t eat up and put it in the fridge.”

Zhan Yao countered, “It’s late. You can stay over.”

“Is kitty lonely?”

Zhan Yao instinctively spat, “Fuck off.”

 _That’s the opposite of what you want,_ Zhan Yao told himself. _But I can’t take back my words now._

Watching Yutong’s departing back, Zhan Yao ignored the disappointment growing in his belly. He looked down at the quarter of rice in his bowl. Suddenly he felt not as hungry. He quickly cleared the table. Standing over the sink, he stared at the two bowls, chopsticks, and glasses.

Two glasses in the sink, the slight oddness from earlier clicked. Yutong used his own cup. The sight of two separate cups left a bitter taste in Zhan Yao’s mouth.

He should have taken that as a sign. The next day Yutong returned to his avoidant behaviors. They exchanged brief polite conversation without so much as a quip and then Yutong holed himself up in his office.

A typical, polite conversation between colleagues was not their modus operandi; Bai Yutong and Zhan Yao were synonymous with fighting. Their relationship changed, and Zhan Yao did not like it any bit.

As a professional, he knew that storming into Yutong’s office and demanding answers was not only a bad idea but a terrible communication strategy. He instead skulked to his office.

Again, he turned over his days. Yutong’s change troubled Zhan Yao. He had difficulty determining if that concern was professional or personal. He pulled up his mental observation log.

Yutong went from his standard behaviors (physically-affectionate, extroverted, and sociable) to irritable, moody, and closed off. While some of it could be attributed to the high tension case, the behavioral shift occurred separately from the case’s progress. Additionally, once the case ended successfully, Yutong’s mood should have improved.

The merry mouse joking with Ma Han, sharing snacks with Wang Shao, and laughing with Zhao Fu skirted through Zhan Yao’s mind. He clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

 _It had,_ he conceded to himself, _He had improved. The only one he’s strange with is you._

But why?

Between Ah Yi’s meddling and his near death experience, his mind had been occupied.

 _Ah Yi,_ he realized. _He’s been strange since Ah Yi called._

It could be a coincidence. People of any sort had periods where they had low energy and socialized less with others. As long as the interval lasted a relatively short amount of time, there was no need to worry. Extended behavioral shifts with no apparent cause were symptoms of various things — not of all of which bad. Since he’d returned from New York, this was the longest stretch he’d been in close contact with Yutong. No matter how well two people got along, wanting time apart was normal.

The unhappiness in his belly slunk to his chest. Wrapping around his heart, it hastened his breath. The thought did more than make him glum. That Yutong did not want to see him hurt.

Zhan Yao inhaled. _Except the lab mouse is social; if it were just that, things would have improved by now._

Despite what television suggested, psychoanalysis was neither easy or straightforward. Behaviors had a myriad of possible sources. Nothing was as simple as cause and effect. Humans defied simple explanations. However, knowing the subject or familiarity with the individual tended to lead to more accurate conclusions.

_I know Bai Yutong, Zhan Yao hissed. But this —_

He tapped his desk.

 _Take a step back,_ an analytic part of him suggested. _What would you think if someone had these traits?_

Sudden fluctuations in mood, avoids prolonged eye contact, and increases distance with a long-term friend that occurred after that friend was set up on a blind date. The most straightforward conclusion is angry at their friend for going on a date. In turn, the logical conclusion is…

 _Yutong likes me?_ He shook his head. _Or you’re putting the most beneficial spin on it for you._

 _This is going nowhere._ He rubbed his face. _I should talk to him. In a day or two, when I’m not so emotionally compromised._

Zhan Yao turned on his computer and continued the seemingly endless task of digitizing and organizing his notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was distracted by Chinese novel translations and I almost forgot to update.
> 
> See y'all next Wednesday.


	5. Cat Out of the Bag

At home, he heated up the leftovers from yesterday. While nibbling on the food, he opened a notepad. He made sure to pick a pen with the least chopstick-like dimensions possible; ink tasted awful. He repeated that mistake more times than he cared for.

Communication experts suggested planning out topics ahead of a significant conversation to avoid getting sidetracked. Even without referring to the list later, it organized one’s thoughts and emotions.

_Change in behavior, distance, after date, why?_ His pen hovered over the page. He bit his cheek.

Concerns about his health, offer to connect him to help, discuss Ah Yi’s meddling: he listed off between bites of halibut.

_Yutong likes me?_ He immediately crossed it out. Accusing someone of that, even an idiot knew not to do that. In very small cursive, he added, _tell him I like him._

He scribbled it out.

_Ring. Ring Ring._

Zhan Yao crawled over his belongings to pick up his phone.

“Hello, this is Doctor Zhan Yao speaking.”

“Xiao Yao,” Ah Yi greeted.

He yanked the mobile from his ear. Staring at caller ID, he silently groaned. He mouthed a swear word. He braced himself and put the piece by his ear.

_Please don’t be another date._

“.... called me,” she said. “They invited us over for tea. Chan Ya will be there.”

“Ah Yi,” Zhan Yao said. His voice low and soft but firm. “Our agreement was one date.”

She sighed in the way only mothers’ could. A combination of exasperation, indulgence, and consideration captured in an exhalation. Guilt crept into Zhan Yao’s heart, but his resolve held.

“Xiao Yao, you’re nearing thirty. Chan Ya is a nice girl. If the two of you enjoyed your lunch, you should consider dating,” she reasoned in a maternal voice. “Work puts food on the table but it doesn’t feed your heart. Perhaps you will marry her later or you will find someone else, but focusing only on your work — I would like to see my god-grandchildren.”

Zhan Yao straightened up. Squaring his shoulders, he took in a deep grounding breath. He scanned the room for an alternative but found nothing.

“I like someone.”

A wave of an indescribably pleasant emotion washed over him. His face reddened. His heart raced. Saying that aloud, although it sounded ridiculous made it all the more real.

“You do? Who is she?”

Zhan Yao pinched his nose. “I barely realized it awhile ago.”

“A day ago or a month ago,” she said. He could picture her waving off his worries. “Doesn’t matter. I want to meet her.”

“Let’s not jinx things.” Zhan Yao shifted in feet. “Tell Miss Chan and her family, I am grateful for the invitation but I cannot attend please.”

“Hmm, I already promised a —” she hummed. “I can take my son.”

Her pitch dropped. Her voice turned into a murmur he suspected he was not meant to hear.

“He finally agreed to attend…”

Zhan Yao gasped, “Yutong agreed to a blind date?”

He slapped his hand over his mouth.

She laughed, “I was as surprised as you. My workaholic son.”

“Tch, I think I will turn them down,” she continued. “When he is like this, I can’t bring myself to invite him.”

Her mind connected concepts and she leapt between subjects. Her logical leaps confounded him.

“Excuse me?” Zhan Yao nudged.

“You know, until recently he rejected all my attempts because he was in love.” Her voice carried the sensation of an indulgent smile. It went sharp. Imagining the accompanying piercing look was easy. **_“She_** must’ve broken his heart.”

“Who?” he wheezed.

_Yutong likes someone else._ Zhan Yao swallowed the lump in his throat. He groped the table for his glass. The whirl of tense feelings twisting him up aside, in the contortion of ‘she’ he felt the weight of a mother’s wrath. It would have been less cruel to call Yutong’s love interest a bitch.

“You don’t know? Hm… I hoped you would. You have been gone for a while,” she mused aloud. “He refuses to tell me…”

Needing something to wash down his disappointment, but not wanting to miss anything, he adjusted his position. He pinned his phone between his shoulder and ear. He gulped water. The liquid physically smoothed his throat but did nothing for his heart.

“All I managed to get out of him is it’s someone who he doesn’t mind sharing a cup with.”

Zhan Yao choked. His phone hit the ground with a clatter. He jumped to his feet. The tsunami of relief and then confusion triggered his fight or flight reflex. His chest heaved. His arms pulled up to his face.

The faraway cry of his name snapped him out of it. He bent down. Picking up his phone, he gave it a cursory survey to confirm it hadn’t been damaged in the fall.

“Sorry, Ah Yi. A fish bone got caught in my throat,” he quickly explained, while praying she would return to the previous topic, “I’m in the middle of dinner.”

“Oh? Should I call back?”

_No!_ He almost shouted. Using all of his control, he instead prompted, “If Yutong likes someone why did he agree…”

“I’m not sure. He rambled. Something about it being time to throw in the towel,” she sighed. “All I could get from him was that she was dating.”

Anger. If one word described him in the moment, it was white-blue fiery anger. _How dare he run away._

Zhan Yao grabbed his keys. It hit him.

_I don’t know where he lives._

They saw each other every day, but he had no idea where Yutong called home.

His throat obstruction slammed into his chest. A comet of uneasiness seared his heart. He knew so much about Yutong, but not this important detail.

Not knowing where he lived hurt. Any gaps of knowledge as normal as they might be were chasm of distress. _He told Ah Yi but not me._

Yutong’s apartment, his heart— what other significant things did Zhan Yao not know.

An answer wouldn’t come from above, but he could get one of them.

“Ah Yi, can you send me Yutong’s address? I found some of his papers in mine.”

Zhan Yao jogged up the stairs to Bai Yutong’s apartment unsure of what his plans were. Knocking on the door, he wondered what possessed him to rush to Yutong’s home. The thought of Yutong dating another person irked him. That felt wrong in ways he could not properly describe. Like a cat with his hackles raised, he squared his shoulders, and stretched to his full height to scare off his enemy. In a more primal way, although Zhan Yao would deny such a base reaction, he knew why: _Bai Yutong is **mine**._

Yutong opened the door.

His eyes widened comically. The door swung—

Zhan Yao shoved his hand in the gap. He leaned on the door. Pushing it in, he shut his eyes. Tears filled his ducts. He hopped, clutching his hand to his chest. Cradling it, he regretted not using his foot.

“Idiot!” Yutong scolded, a familiar and comforting panic in his voice.

_He still cares about me._ The thought comforted Zhan Yao. A part of him he refused to name relaxed and then tensed up. _He still tried to give up on me without —_

He frowned.

The door opened. A hand yanked him in. Yutong dragged him into a living room. Yutong deposited him on a white couch. He left muttering about a first aid kit.

Zhan Yao blinked through the pain. He scanned the apartment. The apartment had an open layout. Not that the area had not been clearly defined. Twisting behind around, Zhan Yao saw a high-class kitchen with an island and a dining area to the left. Between the two was a hallway that led to Zhan Yao presumed a bedroom, bathroom, and guest room. Da-jie would never allow Yutong to live in a place without a guest room. A third of the area was dedicated to the living room he currently occupied. A bar was to his right, a punching bag took up the space in front of the balcony, and an L-shaped couch took up most of the area. Like in a interior design magazine, a glass coffee table stood in front of the couch and set into the wall was a high quality flat screen tv.

The space fit Yutong. Most of his apartment was a shade of white. A color that seemed sterile in the worst of situations but here was tidy and neat without being minimalist. Rather, every object seemed to have its place. The most surprising detail was that the walls were not colorless. Angling his head, the color was a darker shade of blue. The color made the home seem less like a display model house and more like a lived in place.

Yutong returned. A duffel in one hand and a packet of ice in the other, he sat on the coffee table. His supplies were set down next to him. Muttering to himself, he furrowed his brow with concern. With no ceremony, he grabbed Zhan Yao’s hand.

**“Damn mouse!”**

“Che. Whose brilliant idea was it to act like a movie character?” Yutong mocked, shaking his head.

His hands, however, moved more gently. He turned over Zhan Yao’s hand, running the pads of his fingers over the contour of Zhan Yao’s palm. He wriggled Zhan Yao’s fingers, testing them. A stiffness made moving difficult and mildly painful. His palm swelled up to twice its usual size. Zhan Yao could only thank the heavens that he had the little foresight to use his non-dominant hand as a doorstop.

“Tsk, if I didn’t, you’d keep avoiding me.”

Massaging an ointment into Zhan Yao’s palm, Yutong bickered,“Who is avoiding you? I see your mug every day.”

His gaze focused on Zhan Yao’s hand. Zhan Yao bit his cheek, frowning.

“Avoiding eye contact, do you want to lie better?”

“I am not avoiding you,” he said, glaring at Zhan Yao.

He pressed an ice pack roughly into Zhan Yao’s palm.

“Fuck, violent mouse,” he cursed, cradling his arm to his chest. “Sudden lack of contractions is another sign of lying.”

“Tsk, you’re overreaching Dr. Zhan. Save your psychoanalysis for criminals.” Yutong rubbed his neck.

Zhan Yao opened his mouth, closing it when Yutong shot him a pointed glare.

“You are avoiding me. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since over a week ago,” Zhan Yao said, jutting out his jut defiantly.

Yutong rolled his eyes. “I’m not your mother. Cooking and cleaning after you. Che.”

_What do I want from Yutong anyway? Didn’t I decide I was fine with our relationship? Keep calm Zhan Yao._

“I never asked you do any of those things.” Zhan Yao clicked his tongue.

His brows raised pass his hairline. “You’re delusional!”

“Admit it, you did those things because you like me,” Zhan Yao spat.

_Abort, abort. That is not want you wanted to say._

“Who likes **_you?!”_** Yutong jumped to his feet.

“You,” His mouth escaped from him. “A tidy and straightforward person like you shows your affection for another person similarly. Your love language is acts of affection. You cleaned my apartment, cooked for me, and carried me to bed when I slept on the couch.”

Panicking internally, Zhan Yao leaned into academic analysis as a defense mechanism. Though he knew it made things worse, he couldn’t stop. “Someone as obsessively clean as you would never share cutlery with another person yet you shared a glass with me at least once a meal for weeks. Never once did you complain about it, and yet you immediately threw out your cup when Wang Shao accidentally drank your coffee.”

Yutong covered his eyes, squeezing his face. He gestured for Zhan Yao to stop talking.

“Who would like you?” Yutong fired off. “You might have a doctorate in psychology, but —” Yutong twisted to face the balcony, Counting off with his fingers, he continued, “That is all you’re good at. Cannot cook, can’t even boil an egg. Cannot clean, you didn’t even own a vacuum. Tch.”

He closed his hand and tapped his fist against his forehead to underscore his disbelief, “I am surprised you are even alive. You stayed in Hong Kong for two damn months but half your fridge was spoiled. I saw you drink obviously bad soy milk without realizing it. For such a _smart_ —” The way he twisted the word in his mouth was akin to air quotes — “man, you can’t tell when food has gone bad. If you don’t come to work one day, I will just assume you have died of food poisoning.”

Yutong repeated, “Who likes you?!”

He spoke as if questioning himself just as much as he was questioning Zhan Yao. And his ears had a slight red tint to them, but Zhan Yao would keep that adorable detail to himself. Holding his fist over his mouth, Zhan Yao hid a grin.

_He’s not going to tell you — you have to,_ he paused. _This isn’t a battle and you’ve already backed yourself into a corner._

“Bai Yutong. Stubborn. Ridiculously stubborn, but I like that when you believe in something you will pursue it until the end,” he said, using his analytic nature (hopefully for good this time around). “Contentious, but pretends otherwise. You will take care of others, but if anyone points it out you will deny it —” he frowned but his tone did not change — “We always argue about everything, but if we didn’t it would feel strange. Despite our arguments, if anyone else questions my skills, you are the first one to defend me.”

Yutong angled his head. Pointing at Zhan Yao with his chin, he asked, “What are _you_ doing? Che. All those praises, what am I? Your mother? Tsk.”

Rolling his eyes, Zhan Yao continued, “You always nag me. It’s bothersome, but —” He frowned. Sighing, he admitted, “when you don’t, it’s lonely.”

His analysis went on a tangent to his feelings. Zhan Yao swallowed. Words harder to come by. He was rambling and he knew it. Confessing felt like a lost even though he logically knew there wasn’t a competition.

_I’m confessing first, that’s a victory,_ Zhan Yao tried to reframe the situation while he was still in control.

“I’ve missed you,” Zhan Yao confessed. “We see each other every day, but I’ve missed you. We bicker all the time and never see eye to eye. If I don’t argue with you when we meet, it doesn’t feel like I’ve seen my white mouse.”

“Yours?!” he said, dropping his hand from his face. His eyes widened, brows escaped into hairline. He turned on his heel towards Zhan Yao. “Are you delusional? When did I belong to you?”

_Mine,_ the beast inside Zhan Yao’s chest purred possessively.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Zhan Yao retorted. “For a detective, you are bad at putting the clues together. I, for some unfathomable reason, like you.”

Jumping to his feet, Zhan Yao grabbed Yutong by he collar. Zhan Yao nearly shouted, “I like you, Bai Yutong.”

Yanking Yutong closer, he continued, “I like you —” catching his breath, he tacked on. “So don’t go on a blind date.”

Removing Zhan Yao’s hands, Yutong jutted out his chin. “Are you confessing or asking for a fight?”

Zhan Yao collapsed onto the couch. All the tension his body escaped at once. Once he admitted his feelings aloud, all his previous excuses were so dumb. He liked Bai Yutong and he wanted to be more than friends.

Bai Yutong laughed. Bent over in half, arms holding his chest, full on laughter that made Zhan Yao self-conscious. Zhan Yao blinked slowly.

“Did you have a break from reality?” he quipped. Just because he confessed that did not mean he would stop mocking Yutong. That was their dynamic and he rather enjoyed it at this point.

“I should be asking you that.” Yutong squeezed out between barking chuckles.

He plopped onto the couch next to Zhan Yao, wiping away his tears. Zhan Yao cocked a brow questioningly.

“What?” Yutong replied, catching his breath.

“Your answer?”

“You never asked a question,” Yutong teased.

His expression wide and innocent— mockingly so.

“Bite me,” Zhan Yao hissed.

Pushing off his knees, he stood up. He made a beeline for the front door —

Yutong’s paws ensnared his wrist. A yank and Zhan Yao fell back into the white cushions. Yutong nipped at Zhan Yao’s wrist. Peering up at Zhan Yao playfully, he bit it lightly again.

Zhan Yao jerked his arm hand free. Narrowing his eyes at Yutong, he rubbed the saliva off furiously.

“You asked,” he chuckled. “Since **_my_** kitty is shy, I’ll accept your humble request to be your boyfriend.”

He preened.

Zhan Yao wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t act so smug, you liked me first.”

That was not the most mature response, but Yutong had the tendency to bring out the worst in Zhan Yao. He also inspired Zhan Yao, but the smug mouse didn’t have to know that.

Crossing his arms, he replied, “I have no idea why you’re under the delusion I —”

“Ah Yi told me,” Zhan Yao interrupted.

“Mama knows?!” Yutong jolted.

“Yes and no,” Zhan Yao replied, enjoying the mouse’s flattened ears and nervous fussing. The knocked off balance aura Yutong gave off was refreshing. He liked the sight of Yutong off-centered because of him; his mouth turned up at the corners against his will. “She described the person you liked, and I realized it was me. She didn’t seem to know who that person was.”

“Ass.” He smacked his shoulder.

_Wait, one important thing,_ Zhan Yao pouted, “You have to say it.”

“What?”

Zhan Yao grabbed Yutong’s wrist, glaring at him. “You know exactly what I mean. I said it three times. Stop being stubborn and just say it.”

“When did Dr. Zhan become such a child—”

“Bai-Yu-Tong,” he enunciated, almost growling.

“Fine! I like you, cat.” Bai Yutong ducked his head. The faint red that tinted his ears turned nearly purple. The beast in Zhan Yao’s chest purred. Zhan Yao swallowed, but it hit him.

_We’re dating which means…_

Zhan Yao leaned forward and nipped at Yutong’s collar. A high pitched squeak filled the room. Zhan Yao chuckled. He kissed the spot and sucked on it. Yutong’s natural pigmentation contrasted with the red spot that Zhan Yao was developing.

“Ouch.”

Zhan Yao sat up, rubbing the top of his head. He looked at Yutong accusingly. His mouth gathered up in a scowl that showcased his incisors.

“No marks,” Yutong scolded, before kissing Zhan Yao.

Zhan Yao tugged at Yutong, who refused to move. Yutong swallowed Zhan Yao’s complaints. With a sigh, Zhan Yao rolled so he was leaning over Yutong. His knees rested on either side of Yutong. He hovered above Yutong — he was not on the mouse’s lap.

Yutong sucked on Zhan Yao’s lower lip, running the sensitive skin between his teeth. A shiver went down Zhan Yao’s spine. Not be to outdone, Zhan Yao pulled away to nuzzle at Yutong’s neck. A half-suppressed groan encouraged him. He nibbled along the vein. Yutong nipped his ears.

Yutong’s scent filled his senses. A touch of soap, not a specific kind, but a hint of citrus that suggested clean-shaved and well-groomed. More strong was an earthiness that was distinctly Yutong as if the warm sensation of a good workout soaked into his skin. Zhan Yao hummed. An undertone of sandalwood reminded Zhan Yao of the Bai Family home. Hovering above it all, a light, delicious, and buttery aroma woke Zhan Yao’s appetite.

Zhan Yao blinked.

Mixed in, the fragrance of natural oils piqued Zhan Yao’s stomach. With his other instincts at least partly satisfied, it grumbled and yammered. Zhan Yao paused.

He peeled off Yutong. Scanning the kitchen for the source, he saw a plate he overlooked earlier. He darted over.

“What did you cook?”

He plopped onto a stool. Taking in the sight of recently grilled fish and stir-fried kongxincai with garlic, Zhan Yao, without any shame, picked up Yutong’s chopsticks. The fish melted in his mouth and he happily followed it with fluffy rice.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Smack. Yutong’s tone and a noise suggested he had palmed his face in disbelief. If Zhan Yao looked up, he could just see how Yutong’s slack jaw snapped shut as surprise shifted to judgment.

He muttered, “Why do I like you?”

Zhan Yao glanced up. Picking up a glass, he drank the water slowly and he watched as Yutong sauntered over. Yutong shook his head and sighed. He settled in next to Zhan Yao with a new bowl and chopsticks, but no cup.

Zhan Yao hid his smile behind his bowl.

Once he filled his stomach, he echoed, “Why do you like me?”

Yutong blinked. His expression clear as day: _are you serious?_

Zhan Yao shrugged. “I said why I liked you —” wriggling in his seat, he corrected, “Or why I thought I liked you.”

“We’re not children.”

“No we’re not. That’s why we use words to express our feelings,” Zhan Yao spoke as if to a small child.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just do.”

Zhan Yao pouted. _I’ll get an answer to that one day._

“How are you letting Ah Yi know?” He retreated for now.

Yutong’s twisted his mouth in disbelief. “We have been dating for less than an hour and you want to tell my mom?”

“Ah Yi is backing off this time. But you showed weakness, she will get you married if it kills her. I am not interested in sharing,” Zhan Yao said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Shit!”

Yutong straighten up. His head whipped back and forth surveying his apartment like mentioning her would summon her like an apparition. He even checked under the island. After confirming that his mother was not in the room, he looked at Zhan Yao with a wild, panicked expression.

“Maybe we should just tell her,” Zhan Yao said.

He patted Yutong’s shoulder in understanding. He resumed, “You convinced her to stop once —” He half-smiled unhelpfully, transforming the pats to a shoulder rub because turning Ah Yi down required a higher level of comfort. He added, “You can do it again.”

“She’s going to want to know who,” Yutong wailed. “If she finds out, she’ll…”

He cupped his face and groaned. Jolting, he eyed Zhan Yao. Before Yutong could even speak, Zhan Yao violently shook his head. Holding his hands up in surrender, he scooted away.

“I just barely escaped myself.”

“If you don’t want to shar—”

“Nope, no. Nope,” Zhan Yao said. Swinging his head, he gestured stop with both hands. “It’s on you to not cheat, not me.”

Slumping, Yutong groaned, “You wash the dishes.”

“Sure.”

Zhan Yao grabbed the plates and escaped. Waiting until he stood behind Yutong, he grinned. Yutong rubbed his neck in frustration like a mouse grooming when faced with two unfavorable choices. The way his usually smooth hair flicked up at the ends from his fumbling was adorable.

Washing the dishes, he took joy in the sight of two sets of dinnerware and one cup. He traced the rim with his index finger. From an inconspicuous thing, a cup shared by two, he discovered his feelings. Biting the inside of his cheek, Zhan Yao realized in silent horror that he would randomly think of Yutong any time he saw a glass.

Turning around, the lavish apartment struck Zhan Yao once more. Da-jie spoiled Yutong. Zhan Yao stalled. Processing, he swallowed. A light bulb went off. Tiptoeing back to Yutong’s side, he sat gingerly.

“What if we tell Da-jie?” Zhan Yao said. His voice soft and tentative.

“Why in the world would you want to tell her?!”

Patting Yutong’s shoulder, Zhan Yao expanded, “Well, if we have her on our side, however, Ah Yi reacts, we will have a buffer.”

“Che, or she’ll join forces with Mama,” Yutong emphasized with a jerk of his chin.

Zhan Yao sighed, “Shu Shu?”

“He—” Yutong frowned, rubbing his temples.

“We could,” Zhan Yao checked over his shoulder before finishing, “tell Ah Yi about Dr. Gongsun.”

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“Ok, so. You first try to convince Ah Yi to cancel the date or from setting one up. If we have to, we will tell Da-jie and Shu Shu,” Zhan Yao laid out, trying and aware he failed to sound positive.

“I can always skip the date and deal with her nagging,” he sighed.

His nose scrunched up and his body language similarly tensed for an unpleasant future.

“Ah Yi likes me,” Zhan Yao said, slowly. “In all likelihood, she’ll jump at the chance at making me her son-in-law.”

“I know,” Yutong growled, “she’ll force me to call you lao gong or something equally sappy —” he cringed. His nose wrinkled in distaste — “Like how she made me call you gege before.”

“Maybe we should tell her after all,” Zhan Yao chuckled. “Erhm.”

He rubbed his chest. Yutong held his paws up threateningly. Biting his lips, Zhan Yao suppressed the urge to tease him. He coughed.

He missed the days when the white mouse chased after him saying Yao-ge or gege. Observing the adult Yutong and the lingering pink marks on his neck, a part of him regretted leaving a more permanent mark, but they were coworkers and had reputations to uphold. Smirking, Zhan Yao couldn't say he disliked how their relationship changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is only 26k because I made the executive decision to cut out 80% of Zhan Yao's pinning potential. 
> 
> Because tomorrow is my birthday, as a bonus update, I will upload the epilogue which is in Yutong's POV. I can stop using cat idioms and sayings as the chapter titles :D (I adjusted some of them to better match the idioms). 
> 
> Anyway, see you tomorrow.


	6. Epilogue: Caught Mouse

Yutong’s heart skipped at the sight of Zhan Yao in his kitchen early in the morning. He stilled in his living room. The spoiled cat in his clothes filled his chest with a fluttery satisfaction. Perhaps it would have been bone deep if they done more than slept in his room.

His eyes enjoyed the sight. The lazy cat always wore loose clothes. His pajamas weren’t exactly tight but they hinted at a well-developed chest. Zhan Yao fell under the lithe and toned category. Zhan Yao in his colors made the previous day seem more real.

Zhan Yao leaned on the island, bleary-eyed and nodding off. His head slipped from his palm. He barely caught himself.

“Don’t make a mess,” Yutong barked, hiding his smile behind subsequent a yawn.

Through his sleeve, he said, “Bite me.”

“Gladly.” Yutong slunk closer, adding a purr to the last syllable.

Yutong could easily make Zhan Yao red with anger or with annoyance. This time, Yutong swallowed at the delicious flush that ran across his cat’s face and neck. He wondered how far under the collar that blush reached. Seeing Zhan Yao bright with embarrassment and desire tickled his childish pride and stroked his ego.

Zhan Yao jolted up. He twisted toward Yutong. His wide eyes narrowed. The furrowed brow and reflexive annoyance faded in shades. His gaze darted to Yutong’s collar.

Yutong crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow.

Zhan Yao broke eye contact. Tapping the marble counter, he returned it with pleading eyes. Yutong knew that puppy-dog look like the back of his hand: sad brown eyes, slightly pouty lips, and a slightly downward tilt of his head. He counted off.

_One. Two. Thre—_

“I want egg porridge,” Zhan Yao asked.

His voice was more than a bit whiny. The cat’s naturally low voice combined with his analytic phrasing always gave him a mature air. Right now, his pitch increased and his words elongated. His pleading tone did not match his face which made it all the more adorable.

_I need my eyes checked,_ Yutong thought.

Zhan Yao stood about as tall as Yutong. His proud nose and high cheekbones said handsome not cute. His upright posture and stern air matched his occupation. Refined, stoic, mature fit Zhan Yao’s appearance like a glove. No part of Zhan Yao was adorable.

Except, how that stoic face easily turned red or came alive with emotion with a bit of prodding. That clever tongue grew barbs when they exchanged words. His organized academic life clashed with his messy apartment. The gaps between Zhan Yao’s professional and personal personas — Yutong smiled.

“Spoiled cat; say please,” Yutong said, whacking Zhan Yao’s shoulder.

“Please make egg porridge you ass.”

“Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?”

Yutong quickly entered his kitchen. He hid his face in the door of his fridge. His ears craned for any clues to Zhan Yao’s reaction.

_“Baby, pretty please.”_

Yutong’s shoulders involuntarily jumped to his ears. He rolled his shoulders. The high-pitched, cloying sweet sentence covered him in a sickly wash. It took effort to relax his shoulders.

Zhan Yao coughed. Sounding disgusted with himself, he continued, “You want me to sweet-talk you? That doesn’t fit us.”

_Us,_ that sounded very nice coming off of Zhan Yao’s tongue.

Yutong pulled out eggs, onions, chicken stock, and cilantro. Leaving the eggs on the counter to warm up, he prepared his items. He poured the stock into a small pot. He added leftover rice. He turned to slice his greens. Behind he heard Zhan Yao shifting in his seat.

“I’ve never been in your place before,” Zhan Yao said, but Yutong understood the implicit question.

Yutong shrugged. “A certain house cat rarely leaves his home.”

If armchair research wasn’t a farce, Zhan Yao would never leave his apartment. The fussy cat disliked large crowds, meeting new people, or unfamiliar things in general. Only his passion for psychology overshadowed his strong introverted personality. If they weren’t childhood friends, Yutong suspected Zhan Yao would have avoided him on sight.

He could sense the eye roll that accompanied Zhan Yao’s scoff.

“Unlike a spoiled mouse, I pay rent. Of course I will spend time at home.”

“I had to guard you.”

Yutong clicked his tongue. He cracked open the eggs one handed and whisked them with chopsticks. He knew though that he would still spend time at Zhan Yao’s regardless of Bao Sir’s order. Whenever Zhan Yao visited Hong Kong, his mother badgered him to cook for Zhan Yao.

Yutong bit his lip.

Since they had attended university, he prepared at least five of Zhan Yao’s meals weekly. He did more than his fair share of enabling Zhan Yao.

_He’s a spoiled house cat,_ Yutong thought. _But he’s_ my _cat._

Yutong admitted he enjoyed that. The ever-capable Zhan Yao needing to rely on him. There was a reason Yutong never pushed hard for Zhan Yao to learn cooking.

He apportioned the congee into two bowls. He slid them across the island. Grabbing a glass of water and a pepper shaker before, he walked to the stool next to Zhan Yao. Like usual, the lazy cat drank out of his cup instead of getting his own.

He smiled into the glass.

Yutong shook his head. He’d go crazy trying to understand the mad cat’s weird thoughts.

Having been fed, Zhan Yao gazed at Yutong. His eyes darted across Yutong’s face. His head angled with an unspoken question. His cheek went concave as he chewed on his words.

Yutong suppressed the urge to smack him. Zhan Yao often peered at him like a curiosity or an experiment, but this uncertainty mingled with curiosity was new. They had known each other too long to beat around the bush.

Other than the place and the white clothes on Zhan Yao, this could have been any other morning. Except things were just different enough to make Yutong tentative and shy. He waited for Zhan Yao to make up his mind.

_Bzzz. Bzz._

Yutong’s phone vibrated across the marble. The ID read “Mama.”

He jumped to his feet. His flight reflex kicked in. Zhan Yao similarly stared at him. They exchanged a shared look of horror. Yutong backed away.

“Don’t pick up,” Yutong mouthed.

He drew a cross over himself. He wasn’t even Catholic. The action repeated itself over in movies so many times that in his moment of terror he reflexively warded himself from danger. If he had his gun holstered he would’ve touched it instead.

It stopped.

The silence judged him.

Zhan Yao’s phone began to ring.

Clang. Zhan Yao tossed it on the counter. The caller ID repeated “Ah Yi.” He grabbed the phone. Holding it from his body, he jammed it in Zhan Yao’s direction.

Yutong stepped back with every step forward Zhan Yao took.

Zhan Yao stomped on his foot. He picked up and shoved the phone into Yutong’s hand. Then he dashed for the other side of the island.

“Hello? Xiao Yao?”

Yutong bared his teeth at Zhan Yao.

“Hello, mom,” Yutong said. He kept the phone at a distance.

“Bai Yu Tong!” his mom barked. “Why didn’t you answer my call?”

“My phone’s in my room, charging.”

“Tsk.”

“I have to get ready for work so if I could call you back la—”

“Yutong,” she said. Her voice level and commanding.

His jaw snapped shut.

“Your father’s friend’s daughter is visiting in three weeks. Show her around,” she said.

Yutong eyed Zhan Yao. He stepped away and lowered his voice.

“Mama, what I said before,” Yutong started.

The words slipped around his tongue. He rubbed the back of his neck. Rocking on his feet, he twisted his body uncertainty. He opened and closed his mouth several times.

He sighed, “I misunderstood.”

Softening his tone, he said even lower, “Please turn her down. It’ll be unfair to her when I —”

Yutong looked up to Zhan Yao craning his head. Yutong stuck out his tongue. He walked further from Zhan Yao. The conversation veered to increasingly embarrassing territory.

“I already have someone I love,” he finished.

“Does she know yet?” she said in an accusing tone that only mothers could do.

Yutong glanced at Zhan Yao. Glaring when he saw Zhan Yao skirting around the island. He motioned stop.

“She does,” she exclaimed. “Who is she? Bring her —”

Yutong slammed end call. His heart raced.

“Fuck.”

Zhan Yao stared at Yutong. His head whipped from the ringing phone to Yutong and back. Yutong lowered his head to slowly like a criminal walking to an execution ground. He raised it and swallowed.

He hit “end call” again. Before she could call again, he turned off Zhan Yao’s phone. He dashed for his and tore out the battery.

“Don’t worry, I will help Shu Shu scatter your ashes,” Zhan Yao said finally.

A second later, like the curious cat he was, Zhan Yao followed up, “What did she say?”

“She wanted to meet you,” he answered, collapsing into the stool. He leaned on the marble island.

“Meet me?” Zhan Yao quirked a brow.

“My crush,” Yutong said.

“Ah.”

Zhan Yao sat. He fidgeted. That earlier inquiring gleam appeared. Zhan Yao whispered, “How long have you liked me for?”

“Nosy cat.” Yutong cursed without much force.

Saying “I love you” first didn’t bother Yutong except this was Zhan Yao. Someone said that whoever said that phrase first lost in the battlefield of love. Yutong and Zhan Yao competed from the moment they were born. The infamy of their cat and mouse relationship extended from elementary school to the present.

He admitted that in the playing field that was his heart, even before either had left the starting line, Zhan Yao had already won. Conceding and confessing that first though, he needed to save some face. The cat already had this mouse wrapped around his paws. If Yutong lost anymore ground, he would be doomed beyond this lifetime.

Zhan Yao tilted his head. His lips pursed. A sharp glint entered his eyes. Yutong saw the gears in Zhan Yao’s head turning. But he said nothing which was perhaps more infuriating than whatever conclusion he came to.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

Zhan Yao gestured vaguely. His hand wiped away the unsaid result. It pointed at Yutong’s phone.

“You can't ignore her forever.”

Yutong rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. He exhaled. He clicked his tongue.

“You already want to meet my parents? Are you going to propose next?” he jabbed.

“Hur.” Zhan Yao exhaled through his nose. He gave Yutong a long sweeping glance. “You already wear white.”

Yutong chucked a napkin at him.

“We should get Shu Shu on our side.” He backed off.

“We don't need to. He already knows,” Yutong admitted.

At Zhan Yao’s incredulous expression, he added, “He’s a detective. He figured out I liked you.”

“So, Ah Yi likes me and Shu Shu approves,” Zhan Yao drawled, almost purring. His voice got serious. “All that’s left is Da-jie.”

Observing the cunning and suggestive smirk growing on Zhan Yao, Yutong couldn't decide if he wanted to hit him or kiss him. The result of that changed every other conversation.

Dating fit surprisingly easy into their routine. Where previously their bickering led to fists or dramatic exits, now they were interlaced with the occasional angry make out session. Flirting slipped between quips and barbs.

Zhan Yao stopped immediately pushing off Yutong’s casual touches. Before they dated, in about twenty seconds (not that he counted), Zhan Yao would shove him off. Now, Zhan Yao seemed to lean into it. Yutong glowed with happiness when he noticed this change. He felt the pride of a cat owner whose touch-averse cat finally graced him with a cuddle after years of care.

Yutong returned to cooking for two. Weekdays, they tended towards Zhan Yao’s apartment. The proximity to headquarters made the choice practical. Weekends, Zhan Yao lounged on Yutong’s couch. His pens and highlighters threatened the white fabric again and again.

Neither of them brought up his mother. Adjusting to changes in their dynamic took too much of Yutong’s energy already. He liked how easily dating fit into the gaps in their relationship. They were figuring things out. A particular hiccup popped into his mind.

_They pawed at each other on Zhan Yao’s couch. Ties and shirts hit the floor. Zhan Yao licked Yutong’s collarbone. Purring into the side of his neck, the sound darted straight to Yutong’s dick. All Yutong thought of was encouraging those tantalizing noises._

_He pulled the cat up by the neck. They kissed. He hummed into Zhan Yao’s mouth, fighting off a delirious grin. Fifty percent of him still expected this to be a fantasy. Not in his wildest dreams had he expected Zhan Yao to return his feelings. Zhan Yao clawed a path up his back to his shoulders. This definitely wasn’t fantasy. The pain cued that in but also the real Zhan Yao was so much better than a passive illusion._

_Yutong played with the edge of Zhan Yao’s slacks. Yutong rolled Zhan Yao’s lips between his teeth, enjoying the burn from Zhan Yao’s contracting fingers. His shoulders to his toes tingled with desire. He unbuttoned Zhan Yao’s slacks before reason hit him._

_“Condoms and lube?” he asked, hovering over Zhan Yao._

_He shook his head._

_“Che. Change of plans,” Yutong hissed._

_He hooked his thumbs into Zhan Yao’s belt loops. He jumped to his feet, yanking the horny cat in the direction of the bathroom._

_Zhan Yao grabbed his wrists. He sat up, pulling away. His hooded eyes unclouded._

_“If we were at your place” Zhan Yao caught his breath and continued, “You have lube?”_

_Yutong nodded. He gave a hopeful tug._

_“Why?” Zhan Yao batted his hands away._

_“S—”_

_“Yutong.”_

_He flopped onto the couch. The cushions and pillows sunk in. Yutong scanned Zhan Yao’s downcast head and slumped body._

_“Wait, are you sulking?” Yutong straightened up. “That was before we got together.”_

_It only happened while you were gone anyway, he thought._

_“I know.” Grooming his hair, the dejected cat muttered, “I still don't like it.”_

_The next part sounded like he didn't realize he said it aloud. “I barely saw your apartment this year.”_

_Yutong laughed. He clenched his stomach as it rumbled through him. He fought to catch his breath._

_“Don’t — silly cat.” Yutong finally barked out, “I always went to their place or a hotel.”_

_Zhan Yao brightened. His hackles dropped. He stretched, avoiding Yutong’s eyes. Embarrassment sent the deep flush running down his chest back up to his face._

_Still thinking with his lower head, he pawed at Zhan Yao’s pants. The cat swiped, claws out._

_“Are you gay?”_

_Yutong licked his lips. Making a joke was easy. The firm lines of Zhan Yao’s expression clearly stated his sincerity. Using the head on his shoulders, Yutong knew the moment passed._

_With a sigh, he leaned on the armrest. He tucked one leg under him and kept the other grounded. He waited._

_Zhan Yao peered curiously._

_“No.” He licked his lips. “You know the women I’ve dated.”_

_Zhan Yao nodded. He gestured for Yutong to hurry to the more interesting question._

_“That’s not very professional of Dr. Zhan,” he quipped, unable to help himself._

_“I’m here as your boyfriend,” Zhan Yao cursed. “Not your psychiatrist.”_

_Shaking his head, he said, “I’ve slept with men but never dated any.”_

_At that, the cat stretched. Arranging his limbs, he folded his legs. He preened happily. Catching himself, he adjusted his expression into something resembling detached curiosity. Yutong might have bought it if not for the disarray of his clothes and the flush that never quite left his cheeks._

_The self-pleased cat aura encouraged Yutong not to share how his forays with men were caused by Zhan Yao. Yutong had desperately wanted to understand his nebulous feelings for his rival and friend. Emotions that remained when his house cat went abroad._

_“I’m bi,” Yutong said instead._

_Women were nice and so were men but no one compared to Zhan Yao. Their shared history, even without dating, even before he loved Zhan Yao, as childhood friends and as rivals made Zhan Yao an irreplaceable part of his life._

_Yutong wondered aloud, “You?”_

_“In theory, I am not opposed to either.”_

_“Pfft, isn’t this —” Yutong pointed at the scattered clothes and unbuttoned pants. “Practical experience.”_

_He smirked. “Would you like more data?”_

_He kissed Zhan Yao. The cat clawed his shoulders reflexively. Force sent Yutong back._

_“Horny mouse,” he spat._

_“Yes?”_

_“This isn’t an experiment,” he said._

_Oddly enough, it answered a concern Yutong refused to vocalize even in his own mind. Loving Zhan Yao hadn’t been a choice, but the logical progression of his life. He’d never lived in a world without Zhan Yao. He’d grown up with the feisty cat, fought with him, hated him, and every other emotion and action that ever existed._

_His intense feelings turned from begrudging affection to care to more without his input. He had been in love with Zhan Yao for longer than he cared to admit._

_Zhan Yao admitted himself he only realized his feelings within the last month._

_Comparing and contrasting the authenticity of love was pointless, but Yutong worried nonetheless. He reached over and lightly grasped Zhan Yao’s hand. A slightly sweaty palm pushed on his fingers. Running his thumb across Zhan Yao’s hand, he explored uneven, rough cut nails; the peaks and valleys of knuckles; and dry, warm skin. This is real. Not a dream, he squeezed; Zhan Yao returned the favor._

_“I’m not experimenting either,” he admitted. “I like you.”_

_“I like you,” Zhan Yao repeated._

_The sweet atmosphere sang around them. Yutong kissed Zhan Yao to escape it. All the raw tension fizzled out from their talk, what remained hummed pleasantly. Yutong doubted it would lead to shower fun. Smiling into Zhan Yao’s mouth, Yutong didn’t mind it._

Yutong tapped ignore on his mobile for the nth time. Even if his mom obliterated him later, he wanted to enjoy their relationship without the additional complications of family and friends. He still had to figure out how to get the damn cat to confess first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early, but I doubt anyone will complain. (Happy Birthday to me). 
> 
> There's one more short extra left in this verse unless I decide to write this from BYT's pov (this is a joke I am not writing ~30k of Yutong pining). 
> 
> See ya in a week.


	7. Extra: Family Dinner

Yutong pierced the crown, quickly bisecting the head. The lobster’s legs continued to twitch after death. Spinning it, he adjusted his blade to cleanly halve the lobster. A few more decisive cuts and he divided the beast into parts. Picking up his cutting board, he slid it into a bowl.

He grabbed the next lobster and found where the plates fused. Lining up his knife just above the cross, he jabbed and divided the head in two.

“Do you have to do it where I can see?” Zhan Yao remarked from his perch on the other side of the kitchen island.

Arranging the writhing limbs, Yutong rolled his eyes. “Would you rather I toss them in a pot so you can listen to their clatter?”

The cat wrinkled his nose. Tilting his head, his shoulders shook. His head followed as if to rid himself of whatever sound he imagined.

In that time, Yutong made quick work of the second lobster. Two more and he would be finished. Despite being segmented, the legs and lower body convulsed and twisted. Yutong ignored it. Compared to the carnage he expected when their families arrived, the liquid that oozed out of lobster skulls didn’t even register.

“Ugh, it’s like a cockroach.”

Pointing his knife tip at Zhan Yao, he drawled, “Are you going to stop eating them?”

“That’s a good idea,” Zhan Yao said, bracing himself on the marble counter. “I’ll skip dinner—”

“Cowardly cat.” **_Crunch._** The knife sliced through lobster. **_Thump._** He gave it a pointed tap to drive the knife through the shell. “If you leave, I’ll tell everyone that you found out you’re allergic to seafood. And can never eat it again. Ever or you will die.”

Zhan Yao’s arms relaxed. He sank back onto his stool. His eyes fixed away from the lobsters and Yutong’s judgmental look. On the stove behind Yutong, two or three different pots and pans simmered away.

“Do you really think you can bribe them with food?”

Yutong shook his head.

“Distract them. Maybe they will want to eat more than they want to interrogate us.”

He lifted the bowl of lobster and turned. Dumping it all into a pot of boiling water, he wiped off his hands. Running through his plans, he was glad for all the busy work. If he kept moving, then he wouldn’t have to think of his mother.

“Did you tell your mother?”

“I sent a letter,” Zhan Yao said. His fingers tapped the counter in a restless cacophony. “She’s in a country where mail takes months to be delivered.”

Yutong stopped. Turning on his heel, he marched up to the counter. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

“You invited Bo Bo, right?”

Zhan Yao’s shoulders jumped to his ears. With force and deliberation, he dropped them. He nodded so slowly that the motion carried all of his distaste for his father.

Yutong swallowed a sigh. Even if the two didn’t get along, it would be easier to inform both their families they were dating at the same time.

* * *

The dining table overflowed with decadence. Lobster, scallops, clams, mussels, and halibut each accompanied by its own sauce. The lobster took center in the spread. Atop stir-fried noodles, wilted greens, and jalapenos, it looked like something out of a restaurant. The tantalizing scent of garlic and herbs filled the air. Accompanying the abundance of seafood was a diverse selection of vegetables: pickled carrots and radish; mushrooms on top of Chinese broccoli; spinach fried with garlic; and seaweed in sesame oil occupied the table.

_Maybe I went a little overboard,_ Yutong said to himself.

He never considered himself to be the nervous sort but announcing a relationship to family always frazzled people, right? His mother and father chatted with each other. Da-jie observed the table with a critical eye. Bai Chi was sandwiched between them, looking more nervous than Yutong felt. His head lowered. His fingers twisted a napkin into knots. His scrunched in shoulders screamed shy.

He eyed Zhan Yao from his periphery. The cat sat too straight. Although Bo Bo sat across him, his gaze never crossed his father’s. Yutong bit his cheek.

“So, who did you kill?” Da-jie questioned, her brow arched.

“I’m an officer!”

Yutong jumped to his feet.

“So, who did Xiao Yao kill then?”

Zhan Yao cleared his throat. “Da-jie…”

“No offense.” Holding up her hand, she pointed at Bai Chi. She tucked her chin to her neck slightly to underscore her statement. “I don’t think we’re really here to celebrate your promotion.”

“Look.” She gestured at the food. Jerking her head in the direction of their parents, she said, “The last time you invited Ba and Mama over to your apartment was when you moved in.”

Yutong tapped Zhan Yao’s shoulder. The cat glanced up, cocking an eyebrow. Hooking his fingers under Zhan Yao’s armpit, he yanked. Zhan Yao begrudgingly stood up like a cat dragged into a shower.

“We’re dating.” Yutong waited exactly one second before dropping into his seat. “That’s all. Let’s eat.”

Zhan Yao similarly plopped into his chair. He grabbed his chopsticks and reached for his plate.

“No,” Ma intoned as Bai Chi shouted, “Da-ge and Zhan-ge?”

“Da-ge? Zhan-ge?” Bai Chi’s tone edged with frantic confusion. “Dating?”

“Breathe.” Da-jie said and then unhelpfully smacked Bai Chi between the shoulder blades.

Bai Chi coughed. He bent over from the force of Da-jie’s actions. He glanced up with tear-filled eyes. 

 As soon as Bai Chi quieted, Bo Bo accused, “You knew!”

He pointed at Ba. His face glowed red. Shoulders shaking with emotion, he growled again, “You knew!”

“‘This is the happiest I’ve seen Zhan Yao. Don’t worry too much, Yutong will take care of him,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “You are like a father marrying off his daughter.”

“You don’t have a right to be angry,” Zhan Yao stated.

His voice simmered with years of unresolved problems.

Yutong bit his cheek. Which to address, Zhan Yao or his offense at being considered the wife? He patted Zhan Yao’s shoulders. His other hand snuck over to hold Zhan Yao’s.

Before the tension between father and son could overflow, Mama said, “Zhan Yao would marry into our family.”

“Excuse me?” Bo Bo blinked.

Everyone at the table had varying degrees of surprise and shock. Yutong more so than others with his slack jaw. His heart pounded in his ears. If anything he thought his mother would be angry his father hadn’t told her about everything.

“Yutong takes good care of Xiao Yao so he should marry into our family.”

“You have Qingtang.”

“Ah Yi, we’ve barely started dating,” Zhan Yao soothed. “It’s a little early to think of marriage.”

Yutong peeked at Zhan Yao. All previous annoyance had been replaced with amusement. His eyes sparkled and a slight smile graced his lips.

Yutong nodded.

“How long have you been… together,” Bo Bo asked Yutong not Zhan Yao.

Tilting his head to the side, he calculated, “Two months roughly.”

He sighed, “Nothing I say or do will discourage either of you will it?”

Zhan Yao squeezed his hand. His fingers ached from the excessive pressure. Yutong returned the favor albeit with less force. He channeled all of his calm through their point of contact.

“Nope.” Yutong shook his head. “Not at all.”

Zhan Yao harrumphed in agreement.

“Okay. Good, we can eat now.” Da-jie clapped her hands, physically closing the subject.

Bai Chi’s head bounced around the table. His expression transformed from confusion to understanding to a pale shade of yellow that looked almost sickly. His eyes widened to saucers,

In a breathless and timid voice, he mumbled, “Are you going to tell the team?”

“After this case is over,” Zhan Yao replied.

“Oh.”

Bai Chi exhaled a breath. Some of the color returned to his cheeks. He didn’t look so much like he would immediately die if someone spoke to him.

Yutong made a mental note to close this case as quickly as possible. If his cousin died from the stress of keeping a secret, his family wouldn’t be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird not to end this with see you next Wednesday. I'm a bit sleepy so I'm posting this early by an hour. 
> 
> This is all I have left of Ordinary. There's a Christmas extra that comes next in Ordinary Days but otherwise, I'm done for now. If I do add any more extras to this 'verse, they'll be added to Ordinary Days, not the main fic. 
> 
> I considered do a write-up (?) for Ordinary since it is the first lengthier fic I attempted to do where I only post after finishing the entire fic. Ordinary is also where I began experimenting with flirting, kissing, sex scenes as characterization, but I don't know if anyone will be interested in that sort of behind the scenes stuff.
> 
> I'll be editing this in the next week or so with a link to a .mobi and .epub of this fic that includes the cover (if someone also wants another format let me know). 
> 
> Happy Lunar New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Ordinary is 5 chapters plus an epilogue and an extra (unless I end up writing more for this verse). I will post weekly on Wednesdays. 
> 
> A huge shout out to silvercrystal1 for beta editing the fic. 
> 
> Um... here's my [tumblr](https://thewickling.tumblr.com/) if you want to drop by.
> 
> Here's a link to [epub and mobi files](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1bhNunaYzOu0L82NVcq0-aJ7DNrcx1ljN) with the cover and here's a link to my [final thoughts](https://thewickling.dreamwidth.org/439.html) on Ordinary if you're interested in that sort of thing.


End file.
